


Home

by UglyTunaSandwich



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Developing Relationship, Divorce, Established Relationship, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No beta reader, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, i tried but they actually got invested in the story and wanna wait till im done, idk what else to put here, pls tell me if you think of something i should include
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyTunaSandwich/pseuds/UglyTunaSandwich
Summary: When he's wrapped in his arms, it feels like home.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu, Bokuto Koutarou & Miya Atsumu, Bokuto Koutarou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 57
Kudos: 89





	1. Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niawho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niawho/gifts), [alittlemayhem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlemayhem/gifts), [Aisem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisem/gifts).



> So, I literally came up with this fic out of spite because @sakusasmask504 on twitter made me sad with her drabble. These are merely the consequences of her actions. Idk how long it'll be, but I'll try to upload regularly.
> 
> also, no beta because the few people i did kinda ask don't wanna be spoiled??? so uh, there's that

It’s warm. Almost hot even. Most of all, it’s comfortable. He feels a calloused, but gentle hand run through his hair. A finger tracing his jaw before the hand decides to cup his cheek. He opens his eyes, to see the owner. The light behind the man illuminates him, making his features barely visible. Or maybe the light was coming from within? He couldn’t tell. 

Keiji scrunches up his nose as he squints his eyes against the brightness. He saw, or at least he thought he did, a small smile form on the man’s lips. He heard a small chuckle.

“You’re so cute.”

He turns his face into the hand still cupping his cheek. He rejects a new day’s dawn and wishes only to return to his never-enough slumber. He indulges in the familiar lemon scent that entices him to stay in bed. He feels the bed rise as the man stands. He’s already missing his presence. 

“I have to go now.”

“Please don’t go.” 

“I’ll be back next time. See you.”

“Don’t go. Please, stay with me, don’t go…”

“I hav’ta go. I’m the only one to open up the shop, Keiji.”

Keiji wakes up.

Osamu is standing over him, trying to gently release himself from his husband’s stern grip. A smile dances across his lips. 

“Keiji, I swear ya never make this easier,” he chuckles. 

Osamu stares fondly at his cranky husband. Keiji was never an early riser and lamented the fact that Osamu had to be the one to open the shop. And so early too. The grey-eyed man leaned down one knee to be level with him. The same way he did almost a year and a half ago. He couldn’t help but take in the pained expression Keiji was capable of, even in sleep. His face usually remained neutral with the occasional glow from having tried one of Osamu’s newest creations. His lips brush across his husband’s fingers, lingering on the one wearing the ring the shop-owner presented to him via the best way he could--with onigiri of course. A lot of people pegged this as the corniest and most unromantic way of proposing to someone. But to Keiji, it meant the world. These two lunatics were made for each other. 

“I’ll come back. I always do, don’t I?”

Keiji’s grip loosens, and he does his best to train his unfocused eyes on Osamu. It felt cold, the warmth he had just been in, where had it gone? Oh, it was raining outside. That explains it. Keiji’s eyesight wasn’t all that bad, but without them, it felt as though things were just out of reach. Everything was just a little bit too far away. He stretches, bones creating a small symphony as he tries to adjust to his awoken state. 

“You’d better,” he mumbles as his body starts to settle. 

Geez he was just so cute. Osamu plants a kiss on his cheek. “Always.”

Keiji checks the time. It’s been an hour since he’s left. He groans as he rolls over and finally decides to leave the too empty, too big bed. He goes into the kitchen to decide on what he’ll have to begrudgingly make for breakfast. Yawning at the entrance, he spots something on the counter. He smiles as he reads the note accompanying the assorted onigiri.

_ Don’t work too hard now. Love ya, be back soon. _

God he loved this man. And it wasn’t just because he could make a mean onigiri. Keiji often admired how he could appear so cold and unfeeling in public, void of any emotion. But no one would guess that he was afraid of rollercoasters, or jumped during scary movies, or teared up at the end of romantic comedies when the two fumbling leads finally confessed their love for one another. Knowing that he was the only one who got to see Osamu softly giggle at Keiji’s often curt responses, knowing they held no venom. Or the only one to know that he really  _ did  _ own a Miya jersey but would never tell Atsumu because he’d never live it down. It would follow him in death, even.

He took the arrangement and made his way over to the dining room table, also known as his personal work study. Osamu offered to get him a proper desk, but Keiji pushed against it. The table was just fine, and they didn’t need to spend any unnecessary money, they were still recovering from the wedding. Though he wasn’t as expressive as his twin, Osamu did wear a pout at the thought, even though slight. Keiji would never say it aloud, Osamu Miya really was his biggest weakness. He caved after no more than .003 seconds after taking note of the puppy dog eyes before him, promising that he’ll “think about it” which was good enough as a yes for the oversized toddler standing before him. He can’t say no to him, and he often wonders why he even tries.

Keiji turns off his laptop and begins sorting through the (what Samu called mess, to which Keiji corrected as “organized chaos") papers left on the table from the very late night before. He had a lot to catch up on, and work seemed to never end. It more or less never does when you’re editing shonen manga. You might finally be free of one several hundred chapter running manga, but yet another awaited you at the top of the stairs. If only he had gotten into the literature department. He checks the time. Too long until he comes back. He loved being married to an onigiri shop owner, but darn did he hate it too.

Osamu checked the time. Only an hour till close. He’d be humming right along to himself as he took care of the last few tasks if he hadn’t had a belligerent customer staring at him smugly from the counter. He gave an unamused look at his twin as he wiped down the countertop, noting the dopey smile that made itself apparent.

“I’m not gonna ask so just go ahead and spit it out.”

“Don’t ruin the fun, ‘Samu, ya know exactly what it’s about.”

Osamu let out a tired sigh that carried all the twenty-five years they had spent together. 

“He said yes, didn’t he?”

Atsumu let out an all too loud howl that Osamu readily responded to with a smack on the head. Though he quieted down, anyone could tell that his excitement was mere seconds away from having him burst at the seams. 

“Well o’course he’d say yea. Weren’t you two going on dates and stuff like that before?”

Atsumu tsked at his brother’s silly notion. Though he was married, he still had a lot to learn about dating. Once again, Atusmu would have to educate his poor, clueless brother. He was lucky that Akaashi was so obvious with his crush with the constant blushing and not so subtle glances. He seems to have forgotten that Akaashi was the one who’d steadied things along for them and made it easier for his thick skull to understand. Atsumu never did know what to call Akaashi since he took their last name. Keiji? Too familiar. Miya? Too weird. He was relieved when he said that Akaashi was fine, though he could almost hear a vein bursting in his twin’s forehead when he’d heard it. 

His situation was different. His object of affection was bright, and boisterous. He shared his light with everyone and wore his heart on his sleeve. But because he was so open, it was hard to even imagine he was capable of the subtler emotions. Of “accidental” brushing of the hands, or a light dust of pink across the cheeks. Though he (almost) shamelessly asked him to stay for spike practice every day, which turned into dinner dates afterwards, which turned to hanging out outside of practice. That’s when he was privy to the tiny fidgeting with his jacket buttons, the subtle stutter and mumble when he spoke the deeper thoughts on his mind. Atsumu fell in love with it all.

“Not everybody is as easy and open as your  _ Akaashi-kun.” Snap _ . He’d heard it again. Atsumu held a laugh inside.

“Whatya mean about that?” Osamu inquired. People always said that it was easier for him to know that Akaashi liked him before they started dating, but he never understood that. He believed he used deductive reasoning to find it out, but everyone would say that the only way he couldn’t was if he was on Ushijima levels of cluelessness.

“Ugh, here we go. Akaashi damn near-”

“Akaashi- _ kun. _ ” He needed to have some semblance of control.

“Akaashi- _ kun,” _ Atsumu corrected snidely, “damn near had a heart attack every time you looked at him. ‘Osamu-san! This onigiri is the best you’ve made yet!’” Atsumu made disgusting kissing noises to go with his disgusting duck face and his disgusting-

“But ya know what I learned from you’s two’s relationship?” he squawked, pulling Osamu out of his irritated state. Atsumu  _ learned  _ something? From  _ him _ ? This was worth hearing.

“If someone as great as  _ Akaashi-san _ can fall in love with yer ass, there’s definitely hope fer me.”

And the other shoe drops. Of course he would say that. Why did he expect anything more?

“ _ Ehhhh-”  _

“But I’m happy for ya. I really am. How’s he doin’? With the whole…,” he waived his hand ambiguously, “manga writing or whatever?”

“Manga  _ editing. _ He’s doing fine. I just wish he wouldn’t work so hard. He just stays up so late all the time, ya know?” Atsumu watched as his brother’s gaze drifted. 

He let out a soft “Hey.” to catch his attention. Osamu faced him, but their eyes never met. He let himself be a good nii-chan (Osamu resented the day it was confirmed) and softened up. 

“Hey, he’s just trying to do his best to take care of you guys, ya know. I dunno if you know this, but the guy’s an overthinker. I know that’s foreign to you--”

“Shaddup.”

Atsumu chuckled. “I know it’s foreign to you, but you just gotta get him out his head, ya know? What the hell am I going on about, aren’t the two of you knuckleheads married or somethin’?”

Osamu let out a deep sigh, followed by a half laugh. “Yea, but it seems like that’s the one thing I could never do. I could never get him completely out of his head…”

It went silent for a moment. Atsumu at a loss for words and Osamu lost in his own thoughts. Then, remembering that despite being two minutes younger, he was the more emotionally mature of the pair, Osamu piped up, breaking the forming tension. 

“Eh but that’s somethin’ for another day. So tell me how you somehow seduced this  _ Bokkun _ of yers.”

When Osamu returned home, he was met with an all too familiar sight. Keiji, seemingly staring at his laptop, propped up on one elbow with his face in his hand. Though he was wise enough to know that the editor was fast asleep despite his unconscious facade. He let out an almost noiseless chuckle and made his way over to his absolutely adorable husband. Keiji lazily jolted out of his sleep as he felt a strong set of arms position themselves under him.    
  


“I’m up, I’m-,” a traitorous yawn escaped his lips. Osamu smiled as he gently kissed his forehead while preparing to carry his tired husband bridal style. 

“Yea? Yer up?” he jested.

Keiji gave a sigh of defeat and took the opportunity to burrow his face in Osamu’s unfair,  _ unfair  _ pecs. Despite quitting volleyball after highschool, he maintained his nearly chiseled form. Give or take a few pounds considering he wasn't under a strict training regimen anymore. Keiji loved it, soft everywhere, but just firm enough for a comfortable cushion. He took in the smell of the day from Osamu’s work shirt. He could almost hear the patrons in the restaurant as the scents of onigiri, umeboshi, tarako, okaka, and many others filled his nostrils. Though Osamu hated that he could never get the smell out of his clothes, to Keiji, it smelt like home. 

He was blinded as the bathroom lights came on. He felt the cool tile flooring under his feet as Osamu gently set him down. Osamu had learned by now that even telling his stubborn spouse to go to sleep wasn’t enough anymore. Though the bed always felt much more enticing after a hot shower. He stopped offering Keiji to join him, and made it routine to immediately head to it together after returning home. He carefully removed the tired man’s clothes, following up on his own afterwards. Once the water was hot, he guided him into the shower, joining him right after. He saw Keiji’s muscles relax under the showerhead, taking a moment to breathe himself. Sometimes he had to do that, just because his husband was just that breathtaking. It felt like they could be together for another ten, no, twenty or thirty years, and he would never get over him. Every so often, it felt like he was seeing him for the first time all over again.

He watched as the water cascaded down his slim figure. Though Keiji had occasionally admitted to wanting to bulk up, Osamu would always say that he loved him the way he was. And it wasn’t something he said just to cheer him up, he really did. It was something about the way his body was made just for him. Nothing was too big or too small or too  _ anything _ really. It all fit him, and he was fine just the way he was, Osamu thought. He made sure to tell him every so often so that he’d never forget. Keiji would often blush furiously at the not-so-subtle comments Osamu would give, but he appreciated it all the same. 

After an unceremonious but routine shower, they found themselves lying in bed, Keiji snuggled in the space between Osamu’s arms. The space made just for him. Sometimes he wondered how he ever slept before meeting him. Every muscle relaxed as he fell into a dreamless slumber.

Keiji woke up to an empty bed, the slight scent of Osamu still lingering. He yawned as he stretched to shake off the lingering drowsiness. Rubbing his eyes, he reached out for his glasses on the nightstand so that he could check the time on the clock beside it. Shit! It was already  _ one? _ Shit shit shit, he overslept. He had so much to do, and a few deadlines were coming up this weekend. Any remaining bit of tired feeling that was present before was quickly overshadowed by the jolt of adrenaline that coursed through his veins. 

He rushed to the dining room table where all his papers sat patiently arranged, as if not to move from their designated positions. He opened up his laptop and began to sort through the “organized chaos,” as he called it, while the laptop booted up. Once he found the most urgent assignment, a small sigh of relief escaped his lips while a feeling of dread replaced the breath he was holding. Looking at the date, this one wasn’t due this weekend, it was due in  _ three days. _

_ Breathe Keiji. Breathe. What was that thing Samu’s always saying? _

_ “You have to keep your hands cupped li-” _

_ Not the thing about the damn onigiri. The other thing. Remember! _

_ “You don’t  _ only  _ have three days. You have  _ three whole days. _ ” _

It was stupid, but it somehow made sense. If only he’d remembered this as he wrote late into the night, not minding the onigiri waiting on him on the kitchen counter. Along with a note that went unread. 

\---

Osamu excitedly opened the door to their apartment, not feeling the need to be quiet, as Keiji should be ready by now. It had been too long since their last outing together and he couldn’t wait to spend more time with-

Osamu’s blood ran cold. He laid his eyes on his husband who laid face down right next to their dining room table. He ran over by his side and placed the back of his hand on his forehead. Even before doing so, he could feel that he was running feverish. It didn’t take him long to carry the near six foot, one hundred and fifty pound man out of the apartment and down the stairs to their car. He tried to remain calm as he rushed to the hospital. 

_ Breathe Osamu. Breathe. _

It didn’t take long to get him admitted. He waited with baited breath as they ran tests. Once he was allowed to see him, it took every bone in his body not to sprint to his room. The nurse let him in, and told him that Dr. Kuroo should be in shortly with the diagnosis. When she left, he let himself collapse into the guest chair next to the hospital bed. He shakily grabbed his hand and gave him a tight squeeze to let him know he was there. Some time later, he jumped to the click of the door handle. 

The doctor entered, though he wasn’t at all what he was expecting. His disheveled hair and somehow permanent smirk didn’t seem to fit the professionalism of the white coat he wore. He was a tall, lean figure with tanned skin. Though he gave an air of mischief, his demeanor was completely professional. 

“So you’re the lucky guy, eh?” he started.

Osamu only responded with a look of confusion through his still teary eyes.

“You know, cause your husband’s pretty attra--ahem. Anyway, let’s go over what happened together.” He ran his hand through his totally-not-bedhead, and invited Osamu to step into the hallway. Osamu hesitated, taking one last look at Keiji. 

“Oh trust me, he’s not going anywhere,” the doctor laughed. “To be fairly honest, he shouldn’t be going  _ anywhere  _ for a while.” Osamu looked inquisitively at the doctor after this statement. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and willed his body to support his weight on his lead-ridden legs. He’s right, he’s not going anywhere.

  
  


Keiji opened his eyes. It was bright, and oddly warm. He’s back! He looked wildly around for the man. 

“You came!”

He jumped, startled at the booming voice that came from behind him. He chuckled.

“What do you mean I came? Don’t I always?”

He couldn’t see his face. He never does get to. But he always remembers the comfort he feels when he hears his voice, and the contentment he felt being surrounded in his arms, just as he was now. He could stay here forever.

“I don’t know,” he started off. Keiji could almost hear the pout in his voice. “It’s just sometimes you don’t come visit me for a while, and I get lonely.”

Keiji felt a twinge of guilt twist in his stomach. “You know what, I’ll be sure to visit you more then.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” It was easy to say when he felt like home. Then it dawned on him. “What’s your name?”

“You’re so funny,” he laughed. Keiji could feel the bass and vibration throughout his whole body. “You ask me that every time. I’ll tell you one more time, and that’s it, okay?”

Keiji nodded, but couldn’t really understand what he meant. The man leaned down into his ear. 

“This time, try not to forget. My name is--”

“Wait!” 

Keiji woke up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily and desperately trying to steady his breath. He looked around. Even without his glasses, he could identify what was distinctly hospital. He looked over to Osamu, still clinging on to his hand. He could tell with a glance that he hadn’t gotten much sleep. He still had on his apron. Assessing the situation, he calmed down, and stared directly at the ceiling. 

“How long has it been.”

Osamu was quiet for a moment. “Three days.” 

“You haven’t slept.”

“How could I? My husband was in the hospital.”

Keiji sighed. He was right. He was right but…

“Have you been to the shop?”

Osamu let out a dry, sarcastic, laugh. “ _ That _ part’s pretty obvious, innit?”

Keiji took a long deep breath, and held it for a moment. When he finally exhaled, hot tears began to stream down his face. They made him aware that he was cold. He was so cold. Osamu took him into his arms and held him tightly as he took in heavy, shaky breaths. He started running his hands up and down his back for comfort.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

It wasn’t okay. He caused his husband, his  _ husband _ , so much worry. Weren’t they still in their honeymoon phase? How can you ruin  _ that _ ? Well he’s figured it out. Have him not sleep for days on end and close his shop, his dream, while you get to sleep like a baby through it all. But the most painful thing that came to mind as he settled into Osamu’s arms, is that he forgot. 

Keiji was to rest for two months. The doctor wanted to push it to three, but Osamu knew that even one was painful enough. Turns out he was just tired. Really,  _ really  _ tired, as Osamu put it. He had to drink more water, and just let himself rest for a while. Before Keiji could fully open his mouth in protest, Osamu interrupted, informing him that his job was fully aware of his state, and yes he provided the proper documentation, and no, you don’t have to worry about your deadlines because they already took care of it, he’s the twin with the braincell.

Though he took comfort in his husband’s efforts, he still couldn’t help but wonder.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he asked from the couch. Osamu told him that he wasn’t allowed to cook dinner.  _ Especially _ because he just came home today. He cooks for patrons all day, he can do a meal for his husband. He then took extra care in wrapping him in a fleece blanket, since the newfound homebody was always talking about how cold it was since he got back.

“Sleep. Do nothin’. Oh wait I forgot, doin’ nothin’ really breaks your brain.” Keiji let out a dramatic exasperated sigh. Osamu took a minute to laugh and refocus as he sorted through the ingredients they decided on for dinner. Tonight was tempura.

“You know, you could always come to the shop,” he let out, just above a whisper. It was almost as if he was afraid to ask. Afraid to be rejected by his own husband. “It’s been a while since you came by,” he added.

When he didn’t get a response for too long, he began to backtrack. “No, I think the doc is right. You should really-”

“Sure.” Osamu could feel the tension leave his shoulders. “I’d love to come by.”

It’s a good thing his back was facing him, or Keiji would see that this business owner was smiling like a friggin’ idiot.

\--

One. Two. A third. Keiji scrunched his nose as a fourth kiss landed on the corner of his lips. 

“I’m up, I’m up,” he giggled. He opened his eyes just to see Osamu leaning in for a fifth. “I said I’m up” was swallowed as it landed o0n his lips. It never ceased to amaze him at how  _ the  _ Osamu Miya could be so gentle and caring after seeing the many bouts he’d have with his brother. It was one of the many treasures that Keiji would never share with the world.

He groaned as he stretched out, shaking the grogginess away. It had been almost a week since Osamu invited him to come along. Keiji  _ insisted  _ that he was fine to come the next morning, but Osamu _ insisted even more _ that he needed to recuperate. Keiji swore that he needed someone to dote on since he was no longer around his (in Osamu’s words) asshat of a brother. “The shop ain’t goin’ nowhere,” was the phrase that won the disagreement. It was true, but Keiji could already feel himself getting antsy.  _ Staying  _ home was one thing.  _ Being told  _ you had to stay home was another. Osamu wouldn’t even let him get some work,  _ any _ work to pass the time. Keeping it in the trunk of the car because “That’s what got ya in this mess in the first place.”

The only reprieve he’s received are his frequent dreams with--well, he didn’t know who. Well he did, sort of. He knew everything about him. His likes, dislikes, his favorite foods, a few of his hobbies. He knew he smelled of lemon, and had a laugh that could probably shake a bear out of hibernation. Keiji was never a comedian or anything, but the way the man laughed at his curt responses or quick-witted remarks, you’d swear he said the funniest thing in the world. If only he knew his name. 

“It’s okay, because you forget every time anyway,” he’d say. Keiji couldn’t see his face, but he could always hear the smile in his voice. Every time he awoke from his dream, all he could feel was--

“Sorry it’s cold in here.” Osamu interrupted his thoughts as he opened the door, letting Keiji lead the way. It really had been so long since he came in here. It almost felt like the first time. He remembered Osamu telling him about his dream to open up an onigiri shop. He remembered the excitement they shared when he was approved for the property. The excitement of trying all of his experimental dishes and helping him come up with a definitive menu. (Though he was never really much help, as opinions ranged from “good” to “ _ really  _ good.”) He remembers almost spending the night there with him after the soft opening, and really falling asleep there after the grand opening. Though it had been a while since he’d seen it, it really did feel like home. 

Osamu made his way to the other side of the counter, grabbing an apron as he turned on the lights. Keiji sat in his favorite spot, right across from the door. He loved how the light would shine through, illuminating the light of his life as he made preparations for the day. Though Osamu often wore an expression many read as bored, at least in comparison to his boisterous twin brother, Keiji could see right past it. He could faintly hear Osamu humming to himself as he took out his tools, the ever so slight twitch at the corners of his mouth whenever he snuck a glance his way. Though he maintained his physique from his volleyball days (a mystery Keiji was fine not knowing the answer to) he was so...soft. Gentle, comforting, there. Though this would all dissipate with one comment from his brother on any given hour. 

“Did ya want somethin’ to eat?” Osamu asked while looking for his cutting board in one of the cupboards. As he placed it down, he smiled, noticing Keiji’s expression. Absolute infatuation had taken over his usually neutral face. “Ya like what ya see?” Osamu tried his best to fight back the blush threatening to make itself visible over the editor’s gaze. 

“Maybe,” Keiji responded coyly. He liked seeing him like this. Osamu may be able to fool everyone else, but Keiji could always see past his cool demeanor. 

“Sorry, we’re all out. The last one was taken a while back.”

“Oh really!” Keiji feigned a dramatic gasp. “When will they be back in stock?” He did his best to hold in a giggle that had almost reached his throat. 

“Hmm…” The shop owner placed a hand on his chin to appear as if he was in deep thought. “Not for a while. Not ever again, really.”

Keiji did his best to wear a sad expression as he held back a chuckle. “That’s too bad, I really wanted one. Guess I’ll have to go to another vendor.” He slowly pushed back against the counter and ever so slowly began to “leave.” He heard footsteps behind him and felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around his torso.

“Come ‘ere ya little goofball.” Aaand that’s what did it. The both broke composure as they fell into a fit of laughter. Keiji turned around in Osamu’s arms to face him.

“Did I get you?”

Osamu placed a peck on his lips, then a kiss, noting the smile he could feel forming on the other man’s lips as he kissed back. “Yea, you got me. Now did ya wanna eat, or am I gonna have to flirt with ya some more. I got a few things in the fridge.”

“You had leftovers?”

“I mighta made’em last night.”

Keiji giggled. “Of course you did.”

Parting with one last kiss, they eventually made their way back over to the counter. Osamu, finally focused, could begin making his preparations for the day. He looked over at his happy little owl munching on the onigiri he prepared just for him. Each one had one of his favorite fillings in them. The chef watched him out of the corner of his eye as he made it to the center of each one and gave a wide-eyed look at every discovery. He smirked as he reminisced to the time when he first tried them. 

The day passed without event. Patrons coming in and out, chatting with Osamu about the various going ons of their days. Whether it was who won the competition for the best yakiniku, what someone did in a drunken stupor at last week’s karaoke, or how Urokodaki caught the biggest fish the other day, he shoulda seen it. Though Keiji was silent for most of it, he listened politely, nodding his head when appropriate, and just appreciated being in Osamu’s presence. He forgot how much time they used to spend together before he got his position as an editor. It was nice. 

As they closed up, (well mostly Osamu, since he insisted Keiji rested for the day, to which Keiji rebutted that he had been resting  _ all _ day), they relished in the comfortable silence they often shared when they used to spend every night there together. Keiji watched, almost bewitched as Osamu went through his closing procedures. Putting away the extra sauces and rice. Clearing the counters of stray bowls and trays left behind. Watching him wash the tools, carefully drying each utensil with a hand towel. It was all mesmerizing. 

Once he was finished, his voice snapped Keiji out of his trance. “You ready to go?”

Keiji nodded, as he reached out to loop arms. As Osamu locked the doors, Keiji felt a small bubbling in his stomach. It almost felt...warm.

  
  



	2. Something Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rest leave means more time to do nothing. But it also means time to visit something familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is shorter than the last. partially because no thoughts, head empty, but mostly because I feel like this is a good place to leave off on. Think of it as a mini-arc if you will.

Visits to Onigiri Miya continued as a part of a budding routine. Waking up dreadfully early didn’t seem so bad when he was greeted with light kisses and tender hugs. He had even come up with a system. He knew feigning resistance would bring an onslaught of kisses and cuddles until Osamu was able to coax him out of bed. Even once having him be flung over the former volleyball player’s shoulder. He did take a few days a week to sleep in and visit later in the afternoon. Usually accompanied by his familiar friend until his body brought him back to reality. 

Every other night, the two spent some time walking hand in hand after Osamu closed the shop. Taking in the city lights, stopping at roadside udon carts, chatting about everything and nothing at all. As the conversation settled one evening, the two spotted a streetside performer at the end of the sidewalk. As they approached, they saw a sign that read “Will Play Any Song For 500 Yen.” Osamu hadn’t minded too much, and was surprised when he felt a small tug at his arm. It wasn’t so much of a tug, than more of him noticing that Keiji had stopped walking. He stared intently at the sign.

“You got something ya wanted to listen to?” Osamu asked patiently. He was never too fond of street performers. They seemed like alright people, but something about them just rubbed him the wrong way. Keiji always joked that that was just his disposition coming into play, but he never understood what that meant. They just creeped him out, okay? While Osamu was absorbed in his own thoughts, Keiji had already made a request and gifted the man with not one, but _two_ 500 yen coins. This had better been a damn good song.

It hadn’t taken long before the performer began strumming on his guitar. It took even less for Osamu to instantly recognize what he was playing. He looked to Keiji, wide-eyed, who did nothing but stare and smile back. Feeling butterflies overtake his stomach and form into a large lump into his throat, he held on to his husband. He held on like he was going to float away if he loosened his grip. This would loosen up after the initial shock, but Keiji was only comforted by the embrace. He had chosen their song.

The two rocked back and forth together as the guitar player sang the words to the familiar tune. Despite the volume of the traffic, the hustle and bustle of pedestrians as they began to crowd the sidewalk, and the shop owners shouting to try and garner their attention, the two could only hear the strum of the guitar, the lyrics as the flowed like honey, and the pounding of each other’s heartbeats. They fell in sync as he made it to the chorus.

_“Kimi no kodou ga wakaru kurai ni_

_Hieta karada o dakishimeru no_

_Kimi no seimon ga shimon ga joumyaku ga_

_Kousai ga_

_Sono sonzai ga_

_Asu e no tobira no rokku o toku_

_Sain nanda yo…”_

Osamu gave him one last squeeze as he sang the last lyric in his ear, barely a whisper. 

“ _Aishiteru yo.”_ He couldn’t lie. It _was_ a damn good song.

\---

Keiji sat on the couch, a glass of matcha in his hand. He took a sip as he watched a volleyball game on tv. Atsumu’s team was playing today, and they were coming into the last set. The Black Jackals were winning, though it wasn’t too much of a struggle, as the team they were playing against was known for not going very far in the initial playoffs. Even still, the members on the winning team gave their all with every play. Though some viewers would view this as giving respect to the team for doing so, the players viewed every team as a formidable foe. Just because they lost last season didn’t mean they were going to lose today. Any good team knew to treat every game like it was your last. 

Keiji went home early to watch the game. He knew Osamu would want practically a dissertation essay on every play by play. Though he did have a few screens in the shop itself, it became hard to even watch a whole rally at times due to the business that often came with volleyball matches. He’d hear a cacophony of “That’s yer brother, innit?” from new patrons, and another of “Look at Atsumu-senshu go!” from his regulars. Being related to a famous setter had its perks and its downsides. The business was always welcome, but it was ironically followed by never being able to actually watch the game. He was sure that as a former setter, Keiji would be able to give him all the nitty gritty details of what he missed out on when he got home. Almost like a personal radio commentator. 

_“OOOHHHHH!!!”_ All the customers shouted in tandem. Osamu mentally prepared for the undertaking that he was sure to take place. This shop wasn’t closing early tonight. Not by a long-shot. 

A few hours later, Keiji arrived to an empty lobby. Plus or minus a few stragglers, many had left after the match’s conclusion. A few stayed behind for the interviews that followed, but not much longer. Osamu’s heart almost stopped as he heard the doorbell signal someone entering, but quickly calmed down when he noticed it was only Keiji. He wore a stern look on his face. This can’t be good. 

“They won?” Osamu asked after a few seconds of silence, though quite frankly, he already knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“Was it a good match?”

“Very.”

Osamu took in a deep breath. A breathe so deep, he was sure it made contact with his soul. He held it for a few seconds (it was a trick Keiji taught him to regulate his breathing). When he was ready to exhale, it came out in a painfilled laugh. He leaned over, head between his forearms as held onto the counter for support. There was almost silence, but Keiji was sure he could hear Osamu repeating something to himself, just low enough so the customers wouldn’t hear it. It almost sounded like a chant.

“Kusso, kusso, _kussooooo!!!_ ”

Here’s the thing. Osamu Miya loved his brother. He really did, though wouldn't admit anything of the sort because death wouldn’t be able to save him from the eternity of teasing he’d receive for doing so. If bodies and souls withered away, and all that was left was the eternal consciousness, Osamu would _still_ have no escape. Something to go along with this was that Atusmu Miya also loved his brother. _He_ would never say so because the thought of hearing Osamu deadpanning “Lame” for all eternity wasn’t worth it. Though he always came in to support him. When Osamu said that he was quitting volleyball, Atsumu was, to simply put it, sad. Sad that he wouldn’t be able to do something that he loved so much with his brother. They had always been together, and never thought for once that Osamu’s interests would diverge from his. It was a part of realizing that yea, they really are two separate people. 

Either way, he wouldn’t let his brother fall to the wayside. When Osamu expressed that he wanted to open an onigiri spot, he was there. When he was going through possible recipes and specials, alongside Keiji, he was there. He’d tell everyone who’d listen that his brother’s openin’ up a shop. Have you heard? His food’s really good. Like, really _really_ good, and he’s not just saying that ‘cause he’s his brother. Like he’d give that brat the lip service. But ya really gotta check it out, like honestly. 

Once the shop actually opened, Atsumu made a point to be there during all his free hours. Sitting there chatting excitedly about anything and everything that came to mind. He’d never say it out loud, but he was really proud of him. After every good game, when the team spirits ran high, he could convince all or most of the members to stop by Onigiri Miya. During volleyball season, the late nights racked up as the Black Jackals destroyed team after team, leaving ashes in their wake. Though the team they played against that day would not be considered something to write home about in other players’ minds, there were still an exceptional amount of good plays. Miracle saves, impossible tosses, insurmountable walls that were somehow surpassed. In short, today’s game had been a good one. A _very_ good one. If an outsider had seen the lobby before, they’d assume that the volume they were met with was something to marvel at; the yelling during the game, the constant requests for refills, the presence of many more customers than the store would usually allow. But only Osamu and Keiji Miya knew what awaited them in the near future.

It was about an hour or so later. The few stragglers that remained in the restaurant returned home, kindly thanking Osamu for the food before their departure. While partially against the idea, Osamu accepted Keiji’s help to prepare for the team’s arrival. They wanted to have at least a few (though a few is relative in this situation) onigiri prepared. They made sure to have a little more than a handful filled with fatty tuna of course. After quite a few were made ready, Osamu had Keiji move on to drinks. He had filled nearly half the pitchers with beer before he felt a disturbance in the force. They were here. 

The team was so loud, you’d swear they were already inside. That was quickly beaten by the volume of when they actually entered. There was no point in trying to decipher what anyone was saying as numerous voices layered each other recounting various plays. Once one was cut off, they only responded by trying to repeat their statement, but even louder, just in case no one heard them before. The only one not even remotely making an effort in participating in, well, whatever this was, was Kyoomi Sakusa. He stayed off to the side, mask on, eyebrows furrowed, and hands in his sports jacket pockets. Though Keiji would never ask at the risk of coming off as rude, he always wondered why he even came to these things. Maybe it was his way of showing team spirit, he couldn’t tell.

As the players began to settle (a few throwing a “Hey Osamu” and “Is that Keiji-san?” their way), Osamu began to pick up the pace on his onigiri production. He already had extra sauces and sides ready thanks to his stubborn, but honestly wonderful, husband. Sports players in general could eat for a family of four. Sports players after a game? Osamu was sure that this team alone could eat a house and home out of everyone in the Hyogo prefecture. He was right to stock up early during the week, rather than waiting until tomorrow. 

Keiji began passing out the beers and asking if anyone needed anything. It was a simple courtesy he could offer, considering Osamu often found himself alone on these days. As he made his rounds (Osamu told him not to work too hard, so he took and fulfilled orders, table by table), he found himself reintroducing himself over and over again. Yes, he was Osamu’s husband; yes he saw their plays, they were superb; no, he didn’t know when he’d be able to attend a game, but he’d make the effort (he had to admit that it was only a half-truth on that one), etc, etc. He finally found himself at Atsumu’s table.

Atsumu was accompanied by Sakusa (still wearing the face of someone who didn’t want to be there), a redhead who was short in stature, but quite bulky (Hinata was it? He could never remember), and--

“Oh, Akaashi-kun, let me introduce you. I finally got to wrangle this lug,” he started, giving a noogie to the man sitting next to him, “into coming in.” The man who sat next to him, while bigger than Atsumu, made little to no effort in fighting back as he let out a familiar laugh under the physical affection. Once the fit of laughter ended, he looked up at Keiji and reached out a hand to greet him. 

“Hi Akaashi-san, I’m-”

“Bokuto.” Keiji cut him off, wide-eyed. Then he quickly regained himself. “I know, you’re on tv after all.” Bokuto let out a chuckle that held a little hesitation before agreeing. Yea, he was on tv, wasn’t he? “Was there something you would like to drink, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto stared at Keiji, studying his features. Keiji felt naked under his gaze. He began shifting his weight, uncomfortable under his bright, golden eyes. Bokuto hadn’t noticed, or he hadn’t cared. His eyebrows slightly furrowed as he maintained eye contact. Keiji’s gunmetal eyes returned to find them still there after looking away. He knew, didn’t he? He _had_ to know. If he just, if he just…..

“Bokkun, give the guy a break, eh?” Atsumu laughed, intruding upon the mindscape the two had created. “He’ll have _water_ , I don’t think he needs anything to drink tonight.” Hinata laughed at the statement as Sakusa mumbled something intelligible under his breath. Keiji took down the rest of the order and made his way over to the counter to deliver it to Osamu. Osamu turned over to acknowledge him, greeting him with a face of worry. What was it? Was his handwriting too bad to read? Was he late on bringing a table an order? Did he give the--

“Babe, are you okay?” 

Keiji’s mind stopped completely. He could only let out a soft “Huh?”

“I don’t know, you just look a little pale. If it’s too much for you, you can take a break. These lazy bastards can just come up here like they usually do.”

Keiji half-heartedly giggled at the comment, earning a smile from Osamu. Yea, he just needed a break. He took off his glasses, wiping the small amount of sweat that accumulated on his brow. He took an empty seat at the bar, and let himself try to look for composure in the rowdy hall the shop had become. Osamu called over to him while making his way towards the man.

“Hey, you know I love you right?” He knew it was important for him to hear in times like this. Keiji often prided himself on his work, and based his worth off of what he could do. Osamu thought it noble, but still, in his words, kinda dumb. If Keiji couldn’t do anything but make tako out of small sausages, he’d love him all the same. He leaned over for a kiss, which he was happy to see reciprocated.  
  


“How could I forget, you’re always saying it.”

“Just making sure you know.”

Keiji smiled. “I love you, too.”

\---

The rest of the night passed without event, relatively speaking. From drunken arguments, uncoordinated sing songs, and oddly enough, a disagreement on who could run the fastest, Osamu found himself slowly waning the players off alcohol as the night went on. The last taxi left when all that remained was the Miya twins and their respective partners. Though Atsumu could usually hold his liquor pretty well, he was still a little tipsy, and his tongue a bit loose. 

“Ya know this is my boyfriend,” he proudly declared to Osamu for the nth time that night. In his drunken stupor, he was sure he had “won.” What he’d won, no one knew. To be honest, it seemed as though he was the only one aware there was a competition at all. Bokuto caught a laugh in his throat as he supported his boyfriend, who had a little trouble staying completely level. He cooed to him quietly as he led him out the door, offering his farewells to the married couple.

“Thanks for having us. I’ll uh, I’ll make sure he makes it home safely.” Bokuto smiled as Atsumu nuzzled into his chest. One thing he could appreciate is how much more cuddly he becomes when inebriated. 

“You don’t have’ta do that. Let the bastard rot-ow!” Osamu felt a sharp pain in his side that was distinctly Keiji’s elbow.

“What he _meant_ , was thank you for taking care of him, Bokuto-san.”

“If I meant it, I woulda said that,” came out in a low mumble that only received a glare.

Bokuto snickered at the two’s antics before placing his hand on the door, pausing for just a moment. “See you around,” he said, giving one last look towards the couple. 

If you had asked Keiji, he almost looked sad. He offered a “See you around” in return. Bokuto, unable to find any other excuses to stay, finally exited the shop with his boyfriend. 

\---

Keiji’s visits to the shop remained frequent, always sure to be there after volleyball games. The hustle and bustle of those nights became a lot less stressful and much more amusing if anything. His presence was definitely noted by the players as “Keiji-kun” and “Keiji-san” riddled their conversations. Many on how it was even possible that someone as dull (to be fair, this was in comparison to his rather expressive brother) as Osamu could snag a “hot babe” like Keiji. Or how this sweet man had the unlucky happenstance of falling for one of the Miya twins. Either of them getting a partner was a miracle in itself. Both of them getting rather lucky pickings was nothing short of impossible.

Atsumu had a...particular kind of attitude. Brash, blunt, and not at all subtle, it was still mind-boggling how he snagged someone as sweet and wholehearted as Bokuto Koutaro. For every snide remark and rude comment, it was always met with an almost otherworldly laugh from the spiker. A laugh that brought many “Tsum-Tsum you’re so funny” comments with it. The guy was really too sweet to take heed of any malice that sometimes laced his words when addressing others. Bokuto was kind enough to remind everyone that Atsumu didn’t really mean it, right Tsum-Tsum? Atsumu’s reddening face and averted gaze would send everyone howling as Bokuto put on the biggest smile and _insist_ he was just joking. This overly bubbly and optimistic character of his was the perfect punishment for the ill-mannered setter. 

They never got to see the Atsumu who’d coddle Bokuto after a bad practice match, or massaged his thighs after the spiker was done practicing his verticals. They didn’t see Atsumu who’d stand on a stool to help spike Bokuto’s hair for the day, or the one who gently scrubbed the gel out at night. The Atsumu who, despite all his bravado, really did feel butterflies when Bokuto said that his tosses were the best. The Atsumu who’d squish his muscular frame into Bokuto’s arms after a particularly bad interview, wanting nothing more than to be comforted by his boyfriend. Bokuto became unable to see the harm or venom that any of Atsumu’s words may have carried. To him, he was his big ol’ baby. 

Keiji often found himself laughing along with the others at the couple’s antics. No matter how much Atsumu tried to protest and keep up his chauvinistic facade, his dear _Bokkun_ would always, though unintentionally, bring him down a peg or two, if not a few. It was always amusing to watch the two get into shallow quarrels that ended in Bokuto’s arm around Atsumu’s shoulder or waist. His face nuzzled into Atsumu’s neck as he whispered sweet nothings that only he could hear. No matter what Bokuto said aloud, these small moments resulted in Atsumu displaying every shade of red humanly possible. During these times, everyone was distracted or had moved on to another topic. Keiji always noticed. It always made him feel…..

“So are ya excited or what?” Osamu asked, leaning over the counter, just far enough to reach Keiji’s ear. Whispering so only he could hear.

“For Atsumu-kun?” he responded in confusion.

“Nobody gives a rabbit’s ass about Tsumu. I’m talkin’ about you. Ya get to start workin’ again tomorrow.”

Keiji’s eyes widened. Had it already been that long? Had two months really passed so swiftly? He didn’t even get to--he dared not finish the thought. He prepared a smile and turned towards his husband. “Has it been two months already?” he said almost as cluelessly as he felt.

Osamu smiled back. “I’m surprised yer not more antsy. The first couple o’ weeks you were all ‘Oh laptop my laptop! Where art thou?’ I thought ya woulda killed me in my sleep if I didn’t fend ya off with a sticky note or somethin’.” 

Keiji couldn’t help but giggle. He may have been just an editor, but he believed Osamu had a way with words. Though everyone would oppose him. Osamu wasn’t romantic, he didn’t _do_ romantic, and Keiji was just as ridiculous as he was. That’s the only way these two dorks got along. Atsumu would say that it’s a blessing to the universe that they got together, so that they could save the rest of the universe from their lameness. The editor would chuckle at the comment while his twin would respond with his regular serving of a smack across the head, or if he wanted to switch it up, a punch in the arm. This would begin a series of bobs, weaves, and near misses. In the end, it always seemed like Atsumu got a fair share of hits on the receiving end.

He looked into Osamu’s cloudy-grey eyes. He felt surrounded by him. Consumed. After taking a moment to let himself drown in them, he answered back what felt the most right. The most true. “I liked being in the shop. It was fun.”

“Don’t talk like yer dyin’ on me!” Osamu laughed and gave Keiji a kiss on the cheek. It’ll still be here, whenever you wanna come around. I’ll still be here. You can even edit-actually nevermind. I don’t think you’d get anything done here.” Osamu corrected his statement as they heard a chanting of “Chug! Chug! Chug!” from the back of the house. Ah yes, _that’s_ why they preemptively ordered “refills.” 

“Either way, yer always welcome to come by. It doesn’t have’ta be just _my_ thing. We’re married, ya know? It can be our thing.” The shop owner looked away, bashful at his invitation. He lastly mumbled “If you want.”

Yep, that did it. Keiji couldn’t say no to the slight jut of his jaw as the man tried to hide a pout. He didn’t care if the two were twins, Osamu was cuter, and this face was to die for. He placed his hand under his chin, and turned the now glossy eyes back toward him. If you listened hard enough, you could almost hear Keiji’s heart clench, right through his chest. 

“Hey,” he started, holding in a snortle at the pout that made itself home on Osamu’s face, “I want.” He gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. He could feel Osamu relax under his touch. 

“ _GROOOOOSSSS!!!_ ” came from the same back of the house where Bokuto recently finished a few pitchers of beer, though the shout came from Atsumu. He cupped his hands around his mouth as he prepared for another rally. “I said _GROOOOSSS!!!”_ The team around contrasted as they whooped and hollered in support.

Osamu flipped them off as he leaned into Keiji for a deeper kiss. Yea, he could get used to this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now, hope you like what's here so far! I can't promise that all the chapters will be the same or similar in length. I kind of liken it to chapters in a book, where it just makes the most sense to stop at some parts. And I think the longer first chapter was also a mix of excitement as well lol. Will be back with more updates!
> 
> If you actually read this, thank you so much! I can't even imagine people actually reading this lmfaooo. But I hope you liked it. Updates coming soon!
> 
> Forgot to link the song lmaoo. This is actually my favorite song atm
> 
> https://youtu.be/mxK9F6UBhBE


	3. Nice To Meet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update in like, two days??? (it's 12am it's still wednesday for me lol) just got bit by the writing bug. hope you enjoy! and hopefully it's not all rubbish lol

Some things were easier said than done. As Keiji returned to work, things picked up even more than before. Or was it always this way and he just never noticed? He couldn’t tell either way, and quickly fell into more late nights. Visits to Onigiri Miya stopped almost immediately. Whether it was to chat at the counter or occasionally help serve tables, Keiji was nowhere to be found. When he awoke in the afternoons, he found himself scrambling to call Osamu, promising that he’d be on his way to help. His husband would merely laugh it off and tell him that he needed all the rest he could get, as long as he found time to rest. Still, there was still a small twinge of guilt he felt when he realized that he’d overslept. 

Trying to balance a new normal, he eventually just fell back into his old habits. This time, however, Osamu was sure to make small calls and check-ins every few hours or so. The guilt grew. He’d ask if he’d eaten, what manga was he working on this time, or how he was doing with deadlines. It grew. He’d sometimes bashfully invite him to walk after closing the shop, check out a few food spots he saw pop up, maybe take a walk in the park. It grew. Keiji had done this. He’d discussed it all, he’d been to these places, he’d eaten these foods. That’s when he had finally noticed. When was the last time he dreamt?

In the beginning, late nights followed by awakening in the afternoons was no longer the same. He had restless, dreamless nights. Many times had he lied awake in Osamu’s arms, tense. Waiting. For what? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he shouldn’t. Either way, he knew that he wanted to. He pretended to be asleep every morning when Osamu kissed him gently on the forehead before his departure. He knew when to make his body appear limp in his arms. He even recently discovered that Osamu talked in his sleep occasionally, now  _ that  _ was a shocker. These nights as he lied in between umeboshi and tarako, all he knew was that he, for some reason, craved to smell the faint scent of lemon.

After a few weeks, Keiji found himself in the groove of things again. Or what he considered to be his own personal groove. He was making good progress on his work, and was even ahead in some areas. This was definitely refreshing. He leaned back in his chair as he stretched out, finishing one last page before standing up to stretch his legs. Being a former athlete, for however short it was during his highschool career, he knew to do a few squats to get the blood circulating in his lower half. As he regained the feeling in his legs down to his toes, he walked over to the refrigerator to get something to drink.

Deciding on a strawberry ramune, he made his way to the living room. He tucked his feet under him as he turned on the television. Wondering who played today, he went directly to the sports channel. It was what looked like was going to be a final set. Both teams looked exhausted. A shot of the benched players showed that the starters weren’t the only ones at their wit’s end. The score was 31-32 on set five. Keiji felt slightly disappointed, as he was sure it had probably been a spectacular game up to this point. When he actually took a look at the players’ faces and read the teams’ names however, this slight disappointment would take on a new form.

“Why didn’t you tell me the Black Jackals were playing today?”

“Sorry babe, did ya miss the game?” Usually with the volume, Osamu had to strain to hear Keiji’s voice above the commotion. This time, he heard him loud and clear, but understand him, he did not. “I knew you had a lot of stuff due this week and didn’t wanna bother ya is all.”

“The game is fine, but what about you?” Keiji tried to keep his voice even. Moderately concerned is good.  _ Really  _ concerned is-

“Whaddya mean what about me?” 

“Samu, the Black Jackals are on a 30-point deuce on a fifth set. The way this is going, you’re not coming home until you have to open the shop two days from now.”

Osamu chuckled over the phone. “That wouldn’t be nothin’ new. What’s got ya all worked up? Yer usually asleep by the time I get there anyway.”

Keiji felt a sting from Osamu’s words. It was true. He didn’t mean any harm by it, he was just stating the facts. But still, it hurt. “You know what, I’m coming.” At that statement, he began to change out of his comfy home clothes and look for a pair of presentable pants. 

“Babe, you just told me yer  _ ahead _ of schedule. That like, never happens. Get some rest.”

He was right. He was right but-

“It’s too late, I already have pants on. I’ll see you when I get there.”

A sharp  _ click  _ ended the phone call. Osamu appreciated the help, but he felt...uneasy. A part of him was grateful Keiji was coming. Grateful to see him when he wasn’t slumped over a pile of his “organized chaos.” He was happy that maybe he’d be able to come home a little early tonight and get to spend more time with his husband. Maybe they could take a walk after, or watch a movie when they got home. Maybe this will help Keiji sleep better at night. But he couldn’t help the feeling that he sounded, Osamu didn’t really have any other words for it, desperate. 

Keiji arrived a little over an hour later. He seemed pretty put together for someone who got ready under such short notice. Though in Osamu’s opinion, he was always stunning either way. He sped walked to the other side of the counter, greeting Osamu with a kiss. Though Osamu was fine with public displays of affection around the team (he really just viewed them as bros, to be fairly honest), he was a tad reluctant to kiss back in front of, less forgiving customers, let’s say. But then he felt it-Keiji really  _ was _ desperate. So he let himself indulge, at least a little bit. 

“Okay, okay, we gotta get started,” he finally got out after his husband decided to release him from his trance. “What has gotten into you?” He held Keiji’s shoulders to keep him in place, stopping the man midway from leaning in for another kiss. He looked...confused? How was  _ he _ confused? “S’fine, let’s just get everything out.” He began to go through the storage under the counter and pull out various supplies.

Keiji wrapped an extra apron around his waist, and began washing his hands at the employee sink. He watched as Osamu started placing various items on the counter, already back in work mode. After drying his hands, he slipped them around the man’s thick waist, leaning down to his ear as he was crouched down, looking for another cutting board. 

“K-Keiji, there’s customers around.” Keiji could feel Osamu’s body heat rising. A sly smile met his lips. 

“So?” he whispered in his ear. Keiji could feel Osamu’s body stiffen under his touch. He really did like seeing Osamu like this. “But if you insist!” He quickly let up on any kind of physical contact, holding his hands in the air. Osamu remained squatted for a bit as he tried to hide his cherry red complexion, much to his husband’s satisfaction.

“Come on, Miya. This onigiri isn’t going to make itself!” Keiji barely held in a laugh as he heard a thud followed by a “ _ Huuhhh? _ ” as Osamu rose to his feet, a look of indignance worn on his face.

“Don’t forget, yer a Miya too, now,” he stated, giving a finger wag to punctuate the sentence. 

“Oh, was I? Is that what this ring was for?” Keiji held up his left hand in mock shock, his right cupping his cheek to sell the image.

A sly grin formed on Osamu’s lips as he sauntered over to his husband, the shocked facade fading as Osamu closed the distance. “Yea,” he whispered as he placed his hands around his waist. “That’s what that was for.” Osamu leaned in for a kiss, watching as Keiji’s eyes lowered. When they were finally closed, he gave him a pat on the shoulder, “Alright Miya, let’s get to work!” 

Keiji stood still, caught in a daze. He watched as Osamu truly, like he  _ really _ went into work mode without missing a beat. Humming and everything….

“Hey babe, can you pass me the seaweed?” Yea, two can play at that game.

\---

It was quiet. An army of onigiri covered the countertops and a few tables. The shop, now closed to the public, patiently waited with the married couple with baited breath. Keiji marveled at the numerous rice balls that covered the counter. If he hadn’t participated and made a fair share of his own, he would’ve sworn that this was a dream, or that he passed away and was accepted into heaven. It truly was a sight to behold.

He truly was a sight to behold. His silky hair that formed into slight waves framed his rounded face. Osamu was sure that he saw Keiji’s pupils dilate at the scene. He believed that he would never get over how beautiful his husband was. Not even when they’re old, wrinkly, and grey. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched him stare in wonder. 

“Hey.”

Keiji heard Osamu’s voice as if it were far away. Maybe he  _ was  _ dreaming. He let out a breathy “Yea?” in response.

“I love you.”

A smirk made its way to Keiji’s lips as he turned towards his onigiri making, goobert of a husband. “Is that just because I just helped you make all these rice balls?”

Osamu chuckled at the statement. “Yea,  _ that’s  _ why.” He took the smaller man in his arms and gave a small squeeze once his hands made it around his waist. He leaned down so that the tips of their noses barely met. He could feel Keiji’s breath quickening due to the proximity. He gave one last look into his eyes before moving in for a gentle kiss. 

“ _ GET A ROOM YA LOSERS!!! _ ” came from the front door. Osamu closed the distance and flipped off his brother as the Black Jackals arrived. What wonderful timing he had.

It wasn’t long before the tender moment was swallowed by the overbearing voices recounting various plays, along with a slew of other topics. Having a few platters on the tables was a good idea, it gave them time to prepare a few extra sets at a leisurely pace. As the night went on, and everyone cleared out, they began the nightly closing procedure. The only noises that filled the restaurant now were the clangs of utensils, pots and pans as they made their entries and exits to the dishwashing sink; that and Bokuto’s booming laughter every so often as he listened to Atsumu.

“Hey babe, ya wanna go sit down?” Keiji jumped as he heard Osamu’s voice in his ear. His eyes refocused just for him to realize he’d been staring at the couple.

“Uh, sure. That was it?”

“Yep. ‘Cept we do have’ta take out some trash!” Osamu said it just loud enough to get a glare from Atsumu from across the room. He whipped to his side as Bokuto let out a traitorous snicker. Keiji giggled at the scene. They decided to sit down with them and enjoy the peace. Atsumu was less than pleased to see this new development, and he let it show. Bokuto let his laughter fade, his smile drifting away.

“Damn a guy can’t sit at his own table?” Osamu laughed, wrapping an arm around his husband. Keiji fell almost limply to his side. “What’re you two even talkin’ about anyways?” He reached over to grab one of the few onigiri left. “Hmph, talkin’ to Tsumu it’s prolly somethin’ stupid.”

“Shut yer trap! We were talkin’ about plays we should try on our next game  _ if you must know _ .”

“I was showing Tsum Tsum pictures of me as a baby!” Bokuto piped up. Atsumu’s jaw dropped so hard Keiji was afraid it would fall off. Bokuto beamed as Atsumu shot him daggers. 

Keiji looked watched in amusement as the two began a shallow quarrel. Atsumu loosened himself from under Bokuto’s arm to get a better angle to yell at him. Bokuto just laughed it off as he wrapped him in a bear hug, the smaller man fighting in futility, color rising in his cheeks. Keiji stared wistfully as their tones became softer and the high emotions settled. He couldn’t hear Osamu making gagging noises beside him. Everything was drowned out by the silver haired volleyball player’s resounding laughter, echoes dancing off the walls. He watched as his golden eyes changed form with every expression, taking on a life of their own. It may have been dipping into the wee hours of the morning, but Bokuto shined bright. If you squinted, you could say that he was emitting his own light, almost like he was-

“Hey babe, are you okay?” Keiji jumped at the small voice in his ear. He could feel Osamu give him a small squeeze on his shoulder. “I could tell you were zonin’ out. Wanna go home?”

“No.” It came out a little louder than he intended. “Um, no, I’m fine. Atsumu-kun, how were you able to convince Bokuto-san to become your partner?” he asked, redirecting the group’s attention. 

“Geez Akaashi, not you too!” If you cupped your hand to your ear, you could almost hear a hairline fracture making its way across Atsumu’s heart. Was he really that unlikeable?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I was just curious,” he retracted, noticing how his words affected the blonde. 

“ _ IN MY DEFENSE, _ ” he began, volume entirely too loud for everyone but Bokuto, “ _ I _ wouldn’t have asked him out if he wouldn’t stop hounding me for spike practice every day.” He glanced over at his boyfriend smugly, satisfied to see his mouth agape. 

“Well in  _ MY DEFENSE _ ,” Bokuto retorted, “ _ I _ wouldn’t keep asking you if you didn’t say yes all the time.” 

“Well  _ I  _ wouldn’t say yes if you didn’t make a big deal about it if I said no!”

“I do  _ not _ make it a big deal!” Bokuto looked to the couple, making a silent plea for help.  _ Him _ ? Make a “big deal” out of something? Preposterous! Keiji smiled at his expression.

“Yes you  _ do _ !” Atsumu scoffed. “Ay, lemme tell ya about this guy. Hinata misses a spike, he brushes it off like it’s nothin’.  _ Bokkun _ ?” He started waving his arms around, as if trying to grab the word he was looking for from the air. “He’s got this-this emo mode or somehthin’. ‘Don’t toss to me. I forgot how to do a straight.’ How in the hell do ya forget how to do a straight?”

“You’re not too good at ‘ _ straight _ ’ yourself….” Bokuto mumbled just loud enough to hear. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back as Osamu and Keiji burst into laughter. Osamu tried to hide it at first, pulling the lip of his hat over his face before succumbing, Keiji’s snorts during his fit of laughter pushing him over the edge. Atsumu sat stone faced, taking note of the betrayal happening right before his eyes. Bokuto sat perfectly content at what he’d accomplished. Keiji’s laugh sounded so much better in person. If only he could-no. He didn’t dare think the thought. 

Osamu wiped the few stray tears that left Keiji’s eyes as he calmed down. The latter leaning his face into his hand as he did so. Keiji smiled, saying something inaudible. Osamu leaned into his ear, probably whispering something sweet, something dirty. Who knows. But it made him giggle. It brought a slight tint of pink to the apple of his cheeks. Keiji leaned into Osamu to whisper something back. It was definitely dirty. He changed color so fast you’d’ve sworn he was a living mood ring. 

“Kou, I’m ready to go home.” Bokuto jumped at the small voice he heard in his ear. He noticed that Atsumu’s hand lightly gripped the hem of his jacket. He looked into Atsumu’s amber eyes, his voice was calm, but his expression read pleading. He was probably finally feeling the pain from the match they had before. It was only a slight twist of the ankle, and he was fine enough to play for the rest of the game. However, just from looking at his cheeks beginning to flush red, Bokuto could tell that the pain medication was starting to wear off. 

“Tsum Tsum can we go home? I’m kinda tired.” Bokuto slouched his shoulders and gave a slight whine, reminding the married couple that they were indeed, not alone. Not yet anyway. 

“Well when you say it like that, how can I say no,” Atsumu responded, quickly catching on. Atsumu took a breath to steady himself before standing. “I’d say it was a pleasure, but that would be lying,” he said as he clasped his hands to punctuate the sentence. 

“Well  _ I’d _ say come back soon, but you can keep yer stinky ass outta here,” Osamu shot back, not missing a beat. 

Keiji, always the mediator, stepped in so that the two could have a proper sendoff. “Have a good evening Atsumu-kun. Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto took a second to come back to before he responded with “Likewise,” and left with Atsumu. As he walked away, he could hear the two chattering again. He instinctively opened the door for Atsumu and stepped outside. The jingle on the door’s bell was the last thing he heard before that world was shut to him. The restaurant lights were low, but still on. They spoke of comfort, of belonging, of home. While he waited with his boyfriend (who was now snug in the crook of his arm) for the next cab, there was only one thing on his mind. It just felt so cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idek what to put here. i hope you all like it so far! please dont expect updates this fast on a regualr tho guigiufh. i just had the energy and was just like I AM SPEED. fun fact: i used to study Japanese and am mostly familiar with the dialect spoken in the kanto region. so every time i hear the Miya twins talk i have a goddamn heart attack. i wanna go to the kinki region so bad and visit osaka (which is right next to hyogo, where the twins are from) but im so scared ugsudgus. there and okinawa, because i did a project on okinawa and was like wait, it's super cool over there, wtf


	4. Hitori Bocchi No Yoru

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaeritai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so i know i said dont expect updates this fast and LITERALLY came back two days later but.....pretend you didnt see that. dont get used to it lol, but yall are winning right now and i love that for you guifhs 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

They come to an agreement. If Keiji has the time (and bless him, the energy) to help during the busy nights, he does. He comes in, helps any remaining patrons from the day, and gets to wrapping and rolling. He’s not there often, but he’s getting better. He’s getting faster, his onigiri are more even in shape, he’s able to make them almost half as fast as Osamu (he knew he couldn’t compare but it was amazing to see the speed at which he could put out a platter), it’s fun. 

The regulars start looking for “Kei-chan” when Osamu’s alone. The high school girls keep a calendar of the volleyball matches for the season, never missing a beat when the handsome editor made his appearance. Even still, they always find themselves heartbroken to see him greet his husband with a small touch on the waist and a tug at his hand. Forever reminded that he was taken, and that they never had a chance. Still, they watched in awe as the couple danced around the kitchen, following the rhythm to a tune only they could hear. Communicating through unheard lines. Completely in sync. It was something anyone could appreciate. 

Each night ended with a sigh of relief, and being cradled in each other’s arms. Along with the occasional gag or smart remark from Atsumu, who often stayed behind with his boyfriend. The green couple loved to stay behind due to the peace. Despite being such a high energy duo, they weren’t always the best with paparazzi. Atsumu wouldn’t say it, but he wasn’t always fond of the excessive questions and constant cameras in his face. His bad behavior was somewhat of a side-effect of the experiences he had. A part of him hoped that it would deter the crowd, but it ironically enough, sparked intrigue. Bokuto was regularly hounded by a flurry of “Hey hey heys” until he was able to leave the public eye. The two found solace in this quaint restaurant, and Osamu didn’t see fit to ruin that.  
  


Spending nights talking together became their new normal. Discussing plays, hearing the twins’ childhood stories (always one of Keiji’s favorite topics), talking about the current manga Keiji was working on, (always one of Bokuto’s favorite topics), etc. It would usually end with the sports players leaving early because they were “tired.” Atsumu was too proud to say that he felt a small hint of guilt for keeping his brother up so late when he knew he had to open the store the next day. The married couple would usually spend a few more minutes in each other’s arms. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. Always wrapped in each other’s arms. 

\---

Osamu took the extra bowls to the kitchen sink to wash them. They decided on soba as the dinner of choice this evening. Keiji wasn’t the greatest cook, but he could definitely do soba. He sat at the table, stretching out and feeling the slight bulge in his belly. It truly was satisfying. As his eyes became level again, he used them to stare straight at Osamu’s butt from the table. It was unfair, it really was, but he was grateful for it too. A small smile greeted his lips.

“I know yer starin’ at my bum again.” Keiji froze as Osamu turned around, a playful smile accompanied by brattiness written all over his face. Though the world would tell you differently, Keiji knew from personal experience that the twins were equally bad behaved. 

“Oya? And what are you gonna do about it?” he teased.

“Absolutely nothin’.” The two laughed in sync before coming back down. Osamu finished the last of the bowls. After convincing Keiji that no, he didn’t have to do two more panels, he lied in bed, studying Keiji’s features from the little moonlight their window allowed. He took his time going over each of his eyes, taking his time to appreciate his nose, and settling down at his lips before making eye contact again. He brought his hand to the side of his face, resting his palm on his cheek. 

“Hey, I’m thinkin…” he drifted off, being engulfed in all that was his husband.

“Hm?” he pried after a few seconds of silence.

“I’m thinkin’, maybe we should hire someone.”

Keiji sat up, propped on one elbow. “Are you tired, maybe we should close it for a little bit so you can get some rest.”

Osamu let out a breathy laugh. “Look at who’s talkin’. Nah I’m not tired, I’m just….lonely.” His gaze fluttered downward, unable to look in his eyes at the confession. 

Keiji looked in confusion. “What...what do you mean?”

Osamu took a deep breath and rolled over on his back, looking only to the ceiling as he spoke. “Ever since you started coming back I just felt so...so _alive_ again, you know? Like, yea, I have this store and it’s been my dream, but you’re my dream too. And after having you in there and just _doin’_ it, ya know? Just doin’ it. I realized somethin’.” He turns towards the right with glassy eyes. “I miss you.”

Keiji is silent for a moment. He’s seen Osamu in a vulnerable state many times. He remembers how his eyes would light up when he thought of opening a store. The lows of being rejected from loan after loan. The way he looked the first time he said “I love you.” The expression he wore, neutral but pleading as he asked for his hand in marriage. He could tell you whatever emotion Osamu was feeling just by the twitch of his lip, the angle of his eyebrows, and the briefest look in his eye. Keiji cupped Osamu’s face in his hands. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Osamu couldn’t bring himself to answer right away. He looked off to the side, as if searching for the answer. All that greeted him was their digital clock sitting on the dresser across the room. It stared back, only giving the time as if flickered to show for the passing minute. He felt a warmth on his cheek, followed by Keiji’s thumb wiping away a stray tear. 

“Hey,” he tried prompting again. “Samu, what are you afraid of?” 

Just like the clock, Osamu offered no answers. 

\---

It took a few months to find the right guy. A few trials and errors. The applicant list seemed never ending. Many applied to be in such close proximity to a _real_ Miya twin, wondering what it must be like to be the brother to a pro volleyball player. Osamu started to become numb with the amount of elbow jabs he received from responding with “It’s dumb.” Many applied because Keiji-san (using his given name not to confuse the two, er, three) just seemed like “a pleasant person to be around,” offering that they could learn the position quickly under his guidance. It resulted in Keiji constantly reminding the applicants that he doesn’t actually work there on a regular basis, and that most of their interactions would be with Osamu. After daring to look into his bored eyes, they always shied away with “I’m busy after alls.” 

Once they were actually able to find a few viable candidates, that’s when the real challenge began. The first one was a nervous wreck, his anxiousness became a self-fulfilling prophecy as he dropped glasses, cutting boards, and the occasional knife. Keiji could hear a vessel popping in Osamu’s forehead all the way from home every time the boy uttered the cursed “Osamu-sama,” after the shop owner _insisted_ that Osamu-san was fine. After watching him drop a table’s order not far from the counter, Keiji took Osamu to the back so that he could recollect himself before deciding to kindly let him go. He went without a fuss, bowing profusely and apologizing for his many blunders. Osamu stayed quiet while Keiji gave the boy parting words. That was one difference between the twins. While Atsumu’s anger boiled and bubbled until it had to be released so that everyone in a fifty mile radius could know, Osamu’s was cold. It offered no warmth, no compromise, no room for forgiveness. 

After a few more duds (conflicting schedules, inexperience, just plain lazy in some cases), they were able to find someone right for the job. Shitsuren Kika was only 19 years old, with some work experience here and there, but nothing really serious. He took to the job like a dry sponge, absorbing everything Osamu had to teach him. He was a little shaky at first, but caught the hang of things after a small adjustment period. After a few weeks, he was on par with Keiji. After a few months, he’d surpassed him. Volleyball season was long over by the time Keiji could start leaving the two alone in the shop. Though the boy’d seen the hectic days of the regular patrons, they both decided that he wasn’t yet ready to take on the chaos that ruled the night. Keiji always happily stepped in during this time. 

Volleyball season ended, along with Keiji’s regular visits. The newly formed pair worked together to close each night. Shitsuren was a fast learner, and picked up the procedures in no time. Osamu was grateful that all of those interviews weren’t for naught. He watched as the younger man scrubbed excess umeboshi from a dish. He was always gentle as to not scratch the surface, but firm enough to persuade the sticky pieces. Osamu watched him thoughtfully, wondering if it was too soon for what he was about to ask him. He tried to decipher if it was good timing or just his own selfish desire.

“Hey, Kika-kun,” he began softly, causing Shitsuren to look up from his task. “You think you’re ready to close the shop by yourself?” Osamu wasn’t like his brother, beating around the bush to try and get to the point of the matter. He was pretty straightforward, but even still, he felt a bit ashamed to voice his true desire. He kept his demeanor neutral as his employee thought over a response, still trying to pick up on any little tell. This was usually Keiji's thing, but he tried.

After a minute or so passed, Shitsuren returned to scrubbing the dish responding with “You can go out with Keiji-san, I’ll be fine.”

Osamu stood stunned for a moment, then let out a sigh of relief. He really was grateful to have him here.

\---

He could hear the faint clickity-clackity of a keyboard as he entered the apartment. Keiji’s glasses glowed from the reflection of his laptop, papers askew, and a few empty ramune on his side. He typed away, taking every other moment or so to look at one of his papers, write something down, and continue. He mumbled a “Hey” under his breath as Osamu made his way to the back of his chair, the editor deep in thought. Osamu placed his hands on Keiji’s shoulders, feeling them slack a bit from the touch, but not interfering with his typing speed. He leaned down so that their faces were level. 

“Hey, you free this weekend?” Osamu asked, his voice a bit husky after actually having to call out to someone on a regular basis. 

Keiji’s hands immediately stopped. He turned to his right to face Osamu, eyes wide. “I thought volleyball season was over.”

Osamu was confused at first, but quickly caught on to his husband’s assumption. “Oh no, I was just askin’ if ya wanted to, ya know. Maybe go on a lil’ date or something.”

Keiji had a strange feeling in his stomach, but it wasn’t butterflies. “Oh,” he said simply, a far off look in his eyes. 

“I can understand if yer busy. Maybe we can go another day, like in the week. It’s just that Kika-kun can close up by ‘imself now and….” His voice trailed off. Silence hung in the air like a wet towel. It clung to each of them, the weight almost too much to bear. Osamu stood still, letting himself succumb to the pressure, unable to fight after a tiring day at work.

“Sure.” A small voice released them from depths. Even after breaking through to the surface, they both found themselves still unable to breathe. 

\---

Osamu paced back and forth in the living room, running his hands through the hair he restyled at least four times by Keiji’s count. He clutched a phone to his ear, going over the instructions he definitely hadn’t said a million times now to the young chef. Keiji could hear him from their bedroom, amused at the worry wart he’d become. 

“And remember, you gotta-”

“Put the tarako away first or it’ll go bad. I understand, Osamu-san,” Shitsuren assured him. 

Keiji giggled to himself as he made his final decision on which pair of pants he wanted to wear. After fiddling with his fringes just a tad too long, he calmly walked into the living and took the phone out of Osamu’s desperate hands. The man hung his mouth open in protest, but said no words. 

“You’ll do fine, Kika-kun. We’re counting on you,” were his only parting words before ending the call. On the other end, for all the worrying Osamu did, Keiji-san’s faith in him was what really put the nerves in for Shitsuren. He felt a flush rise to his neck and fought hard not to let it go any further. He didn’t have much time to get flustered as another customer walked through the door. He let himself go into a deep bow with an enthusiastic “Irasshaimase!” 

\---

Osamu convinced him to walk to their date. He said that it was more “scenic route” and that he was trying his hand at “romance.”

“I don’t need _romance_ ,” Keiji chuckled, rolling his eyes. He was quiet for a moment, taking a breath before letting out his next thought. “But thank you. Lately I’ve just felt so...so out of it. It’s like I feel like I’m so…” he couldn’t think of the word. How do you describe the feeling of looking for something, but not knowing what you were looking for? He had everything. He had almost everything. He had the husband of his dreams, he worked at one of the biggest shonen jump companies in Japan (albeit not the position he applied for, but he still found some satisfaction in the job), he found a quaint apartment in the area he loved most. But he just felt so-

“Oh nice, it’s empty!” Osamu opened the door to a hole in the wall restaurant, the lights running a little low. He looked expectantly at Keiji, waiting with baited breath. 

After a few seconds to process the storefront, his eyes widened at the realization. “Osamu…”

He let himself be surrounded by the familiar sights and smells. He looked to walls to see the same decorations hanging there. The store was completely frozen in time. He rushed to the back to a small podium covered in sticky notes. There were so many, many more than he remembered, but he went to the very bottom near the chip on the tile floor. A small note, yellowed by time, but held words that still rung true. 

_Akaashi Keiji, I like you._

He fingered the lettering. Osamu’s handwriting was usually pretty sloppy, but he did his best to put care into each character. Especially the _ashi_ in his premarital name. He smiled fondly at the memory of sitting in the restaurant, not knowing what to order all those years ago. Osamu, usually shy, took the initiative to place it for him. It was a simple dish, but he’d order it every time afterwards. He felt a small bit of warmth as he looked back on their first date. 

They sat side by side at the bar counter, absorbing the nostalgia. Osamu placed the order just as he did all those years ago. He watched as Keiji looked around the restaurant accounting for all the things that were still there. He hooked one arm over the back of his chair as they went through the memories together. The light reflected off of every wave and curl in his hair, caressing his face gently as he became more expressive. Osamu wasn’t big on dying, but if he had to choose a way to go, it would be to drown in Keiji.

Their food came out shortly. The server placed a nice serving of soba in front of Osamu, and a katsudon in front of Keiji, who took no time digging in. Osamu watched as his cheeks puffed up like a squirrel’s working on hiding its acorns. He didn’t take long to begin his own dish. It tasted almost as good as the first time they ate together. 

Keiji was adorable as he surveyed every slice of the fried pork before deciding to bring it to its doom. After the third slice had met its reckoning, he looked over at Osamu. Soba half-finished, chin in his hand. A smile played at his lips, but he didn’t let it show. After giving up, it made its way to Keiji, who flashed a cheeky grin. Osamu flashed one back, returning to his neutral expression once Keiji spotted the small book of songs you could request. It was the same as he’d remembered. Osamu politely declined to a song request and watched as Keiji excitedly flipped through the book. 

A familiar tune filled the shop. It was an older song. A _much_ older song to be honest. A lot of people pegged Keiji as a person with an older soul. Osamu never really understood what they meant, as he was only twenty-five. The cook and his assistant, an older pair, perked up at the long forgotten song. They silently reminisced about the time when it was at peak popularity so many years ago. They gave each other a look, as if to speak without words. Osamu watched the exchange in envy. 

Keiji made his way back over to the bar stool as the first verse began. “Dance with me.”

Osamu glanced at the outstretched hand before him. It _looked_ familiar. It was the same hand he’d held many times before, he was sure of it. In the few seconds that felt like hours, he decided to join his husband on the makeshift dance floor. He slid his spare hand around Keiji’s waist, the other interlocking fingers with the smaller man’s. He felt as Keiji leaned into him, head resting in the crook of his neck. He could feel his heart beating. It was surprisingly fast for his calm demeanor. They swayed to the infamous tune.

“Osamu?” His voice was almost inaudible. “Thank you for taking me out tonight.” Keiji could feel Osamu’s chest rise and fall, the breath slowing his heart rate, but not by much. He felt a gentle touch to the back of his head as Osamu cradled it in his hand. He leaned into the man more, almost wanting to be absorbed into him. 

Osamu said nothing for a while. He pulled back to look Keiji in the eyes. He was searching for something. _Give me a clue,_ please. _Something,_ anything! He wanted to ask so many questions. He wanted to dive in and to drown in the endless sea that was him. But every time he tried to enter, he was met with a door that sported a large lock and many chains. Osamu knew better than anyone how he could never really get him out of his head. 

After reconciling this fact for sure, he took time to look as though he was studying the shorter man. He smiled and told him “I love you” as the song's last few lines played. 

_Hitori bocchi no yoru._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried twice while writing this, so thats a thing. 
> 
> hope you liked it tho! here are a few actual notes on the story if you read these. for one, i picked out Shitsuren Kika's name all by myself like a grownup. sure did! here's the kanji for his name if you're interested 失恋帰家. it legit took me an hour to come up with that, i cant even lie hsigushd. 
> 
> the song they were listening to is listed below. this is the first song i ever learned in Japanese and it's one that i actually understand instead of just saying the lyrics or bopping along cause idk what's going on hahaha. i really like this song. it has two titles in a sense. the official being Ue O Muite (Arukou) and the Sukiyaki Song because americans were like the first one is too hard to say. either way you know it, it's the same song. give it a listen! 
> 
> https://youtu.be/C35DrtPlUbc


	5. Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The few inches that divide us can feel like an infinite infinity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i sit here and say dont expect an update every two days and consistently update every two days multiple times now? yes, yes i did. my point still stands tho huifhew

Osamu stood in the kitchen washing the dishes for that night’s dinner. He turned the offer his brother gave him round and round in his head. He thought of his response over and over again. _If he’s not busy._ Who was he to fool, he was _always_ busy. Even when he made time for Osamu, he was busy. Dinner dates riddled with mentions of work or the most recent assignment. Foregoing catching up on the shows they started together. The feeling of dejectedness began to make its home.

He thought about the question again. He could just lie. Say it nice and easy like it’s not even a big deal. _Yea, we can’t make it._ It was that easy. It was easier than hearing a new version of _I don’t want to._ He knew that’s what he meant. _I don’t want to_ . Osamu scrubbed furiously at a particularly sticky stain of yakisoba that clung to a plate, gripping the plate a little firmer. _No, I don’t want to eat with you. No, I don’t want to cuddle you. No, I don’t want to go out with you. I don’t want to._ It played like a broken record. Wait, the record worked just fine. It played the tune Keiji wanted to hear. 

“Hey uh…” He hears the abrupt stop of typing. He regrets opening his mouth in the first place. He clears his throat. “Tsumu found this real nice place a few blocks down. He was wonderin’ if you were interested in checkin’ it out.”

“Oh?” 

Osamu feels his body heat rise when hearing the pique in interest in Keji’s voice. “I told’em I’d ask first just in case you were busy. He thought about makin’ it a double date kinda-”

“I’ll go.”

Osamu’s hand stops over the stain on the plate. “Yea?”

“Yea, unless you needed to be in with-”

“Nah, s’fine. S’fine. Thursday good?” He held his breath to prepare for the silence that would suck all the air out of the room. 

He needn’t hold it for long as Keiji broke it. “Yea, Thursday’s good,” was all he got before hearing the typing resume. 

Osamu took it as his cue to resume the dishes. He was never able to get that damned stain out. 

A quiet shower bookended the day. They lied in bed, silence heavier than the blanket that covered them. Osamu held Keiji in his arms, tracing small circles in his hair. He was surprised to feel the man shift and turn around to face him. They looked in each other’s eyes for a brief moment before Keiji moved in for a kiss. Then another. He felt his hand creep up under the hem of his shirt. His slender fingers following the outline of his abdomen. Keiji gave a few light kisses to where Osamu’s neck met his shoulder. 

“Hey.”

Keiji looked up to see Osamu staring down at him. No flush of the cheeks, no bashful look or shy smile. Just...tired.

“I uh...just not tonight, okay?”

Keiji took a moment to process what he heard, not even feeling Osamu remove his hand from his body. “Are you...are you sick? Are you feeling okay?” Osamu never rejected his advances. He melted under Keiji’s looks and evaporated under his touch. Euphoria overrode the very blood in his veins when Keiji made the first move. Even when sick with a cold, or hurt from a game, he was never able to resist. 

“I’m just uh...I’m just tired babe.” His tone was gentle, but the softness never reached his eyes. He looked kind of sad even. 

“Yea, um. Yea, I understand.” Keiji turned back around to face the other side of the room before Osamu could see the tears he was holding fall. He felt the bed shift under his weight as Osamu did the same. They laid in silence for a long while. When Keiji was sure Osamu was asleep, or maybe he was too tired to care, he let his sniffles carry him into another dreamless slumber.

The two days felt like a hellish purgatory until the double date arrived. Osamu came home to hear a “Hey” if he was lucky, if not, then a small grunt or mumble of acknowledgement of his presence. Cooking and dinner were much more swift without the banter between them and the occasional Keiji coming in to sneak a few bites before plates were made. Keiji’s laptop remained with him while he mindlessly shoveled in what was made that night, Osamu paying him no mind as he watched tv. Showers were taken separately. Osamu lied in bed, not wondering when or if Keiji was coming to join him. It wasn’t much of a difference either way. 

The night that would save them from each other finally came. Osamu adjusted his blazer in the living room while he waited for Keiji to step out. Once he did, a slight nod and “hm” confirmed that he was ready to go. Opening the door out of habit, he let Keiji leave first. He let him open the door to the car by himself, though. Assuring that he was buckled in, they made a quiet drive to the restaurant. 

They stood together outside the restaurant. The silence was no longer insufferable, but comforting as neither had to feign interest in the other’s words. After waiting for about three to four minutes, Osamu moved to make a call to his brother. Before he could connect it, Atsumu stepped outside the restaurant. 

“What the hell are ya doin’ outside? Come in!” He gave a genuine, inviting smile. The couple shared a now rare glance and proceeded to enter. “What are ya, mimes or some shit?” he laughed. He braced himself for a smack on the head that never came. 

Keiji, always the mediator, always the one having to save others from Osamu’s tantrums, decides to speak. “Nice one, Atsumu-kun,” was all he could muster. 

Atsumu gives a smug look at his twin before deliberately speaking over his front to Keiji. “At least _someone_ appreciates my wit.” No snarky reply or dirty looks answered his prayer. Just silence. “Ahh, anyway, me and Bokkun are over here.” Atsumu led them to their table, slightly dragging his left foot.

“Atsumu-kun, is your foot okay?”

Atsumu turned his head to the side to talk in his direction. “Nothin’ serious, it happened a few games ago but I’m good now. You didn’t see?”

They both stood in shock, and hung their heads in shame, turning off to either side. “No, I uh, we didn’t see.”

“S’alright. No biggie. Doc said I should be good by next season.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear then,” Keiji let out after a brief moment, refusing to let it linger.. He decided to be the bigger person and at least give Atsumu a few comments here and there, rather than his stubborn brother whose eyes remain fixated on something or another. 

They sat across from the new couple, mumbling a few greetings to Bokuto as they took their seats. Bokuto looked to Atsumu for an answer who shook his head to say _Don’t ask._ He took the hint and tried to reset himself to his usual demeanor.

“This place is nice, huh?” He looked around at the decor, inviting them to join in on conversation. 

Osamu grunted in response, looking off to the side. Keiji, who convinced himself that he was only slightly disgusted at his behavior, took up on Bokuto’s offer. “It _is_ quite nice, Bokuto-san.” He offered a slight smile at the end in an attempt to appear genuine. The comment itself _was_ true. You could tell that the interior designer went into painstaking detail to ensure that every part of it contributed to the desired atmosphere, and so it did. However, interior design wasn’t exactly the thing on his mind at the moment.

Another awkward silence followed. Atsumu cleared his throat to garner attention before reaching out again. Not that he needed to. At this point a pissing ant could startle the group out of their deafening silence. “So Samu, how’s the kid?”

The married couple looked to each other and then to Atsumu to confirm what they just heard. “The...the kid?” Osamu made his first comment of the evening. 

“Ya know, ya said ya needed some help in the shop and all that. Did ya fire him already?” Atsumu’s eyes went wide with the “realization” he thought he came too. 

“Oh, nah, he’s good. Works hard, keeps up with the business. He’s good with people, too.”

“Ah that’s good. That’s good.” Atsumu felt himself trailing off but decided to desperately try and save the little conversation they were having. “So why’d ya hire him anyway? I thought you would never trust someone with yer baby. All that ‘I’ll work there alone till the day I die if it means no one commits blasphemy on my love!’ crap.” Atsumu shook his fist in the air and gave an impression of a crotchety old man. He was sure Osamu would be the only one to step behind the counter, aside from the occasional Keiji for support. 

Osamu thought about his answer. Why _did_ he initially seek out a mentee? He looked over at Keiji, who awaited his answer as well. He then faced the ceiling, let out a sigh, and said “Eh, just wanted more time to myself is all” in a nonchalant tone. 

If this were an anime, Osamu could almost swear he could feel Keiji’s aura through the few inches between them. Hell, if he stared long enough, he might be able to see it too. Before anyone could respond, Keiji piped up with “Atsumu-kun, I just wanted to note, we’ve been sitting here for quite some time, and the waiter hasn’t acknowledged us. Should we say something?”

Relieved at the question, Atsumu let out what finally seemed like a genuine grin. “Well we knew that Samu here is picky as all hell and you would eat anything, so me and Bokkun decided to just order fer ya.” Bokuto gave a wide grin, happy that his contribution was recognized. Only a small “Oh” came from Keiji in return. 

And with that, the food came, finally saving everyone from feeling the burden of filling every second of silence with a sad attempt to say something. _Anything_. The quartet let out a heavy sigh almost simultaneously as the waiter placed the food on the table. Bokuto’s eyes shined at each dish, chopsticks at the ready. Atsumu took some time to explain each of the platters before them when he saw Bokuto reaching for one of them. He gave a quick smack on the back of his hand with just enough force to deter him. Bokuto gave a deep pout, hoping to break Atsumu’s better judgement. 

“Slow yer ass down. Remember the last time you pulled that?” Bokuto, unable to deny the past event, reluctantly slowed his pace to normal human speed. He let out a small “Hmph” to make sure Atsumu knew his displeasure. 

Akaashi, slowly adding things to a small plate, looked over to Bokuto, who was now cutely chewing with a pout on his lips. “What happened ‘last time?’” he asked. 

Atsumu sighed and let out a small chuckle, reminiscing in the memory. “We were at this family joint, nothing too big. Soon as the food comes out, he just starts shoveling in his mouth. I’m telling him to slow the hell down and it all hits’em at once.”

“It was spicy!” Bokuto argued in protest. 

“Well ya woulda known if ya’d listened to me,” he snaps back. “Anyway,” he turns back towards the couple, hands free to accompany his stories with grandiose gestures “...so he’s goin’ n’ goin’, packin’ it all in there. He looks like a chipmunk at this point.” Keiji giggled, imagining Bokuto’s chiseled jaw rounded out by full cheeks. 

“And then, it all hits’em. The food’s hella spicy, and it’s hot. He starts cryin’ out to me! ‘Mmmgrph mmm!’ I don’t know what he’s sayin’, so then he tries to open his mouth to talk and, I shit you not, it just falls out. Just....” Atsumu’s hands made sweeping motions over their table to give the full picture of what he meant. Keiji sees a small flush trying to make itself known rising from his neck.

“And it gets _worse!_ So now he’s all blabbering talkin’ about ‘Tsum it’s so hot! Why didn’t you tell me it’s so hot!’ And he does this thing where he--”

“Sticks his tongue out to show you-"

"Show you how puffy it is!” Keiji laughs. 

Atsumu pauses for a moment, shocked at the accurate declaration. “...yea. And, uh, so he’s goin’ on and on about ‘Thum Thum halp me!’ And he starts cryin’, which is normal. But this kid a table over sees’em and _the kid_ starts cryin’ too!” With the final reveal Atusmu loses his composure, laughing hysterically. Bokuto was shaking his shoulders gently, crying “Tsum Tsuuum!” Keiji joined in on the laughing fit as Osamu’s eyes only glinted with slight amusement and unease. 

The night continued with this general pattern. The sports couple shared a string of embarrassing stories while the married couple reacted and occasionally provided commentary. Osamu was able to come around and participate here and there, even telling a few stories about the twins’ childhood. Atsumu responded to these with pure vitriol, but never defended against the actions Osamu enlightened them to because, unfortunately, they were true. Their perspective partners always found humor in their little spats, exchanging looks and making comments to each other all the while.

When Bokuto’s turns came around, one couldn’t help but be pulled in by the gravitational force he exuded. Everything about him was enthralling. His posture, his gestures, his expressiveness. It all added to his character and personality. His outbursts might’ve earned a cacophony of “ _Urusee!_ s” from Atsumu, but Keiji couldn’t help but bask in his presence. To fall in everything that was him. Though silent for these past few weeks, he was able to smile. To laugh, to beam.

Osamu wasn’t always one to speak. His silence wasn’t unexpected, but it was noticed. While Bokuto told Keiji about his highschool volleyball days, Atsumu leaned over the table to whisper to his brother. “Hey, you doin’ alright?” 

Osamu’s eyes flickered for a moment, indicating that Atusmu brought him back to reality. “Yea, I’m fine. Just....tired’s all.” It wasn’t a lie. He _was_ tired. He was tired of watching Keiji speak more to Bokuto in this moment than what he received in the past few weeks. He was tired of hearing Bokuto make him laugh in the way only Osamu could up until this point. He was tired of seeing Keiji give himself away so genuinely after all this time, only offering his husband dust.

“Well, I don’t know about married life or nothin’ but my place is always free if ya want.” Atsumu knew better to push further and sat back down. Osamu wasn’t the type to reach out for help if you pushed him. He knew that just extending an olive branch was enough for him. He had faith in Osamu to reach out if he needed it.

After a few last remarks, the couples finally split at the end of the night. Osamu sat in the driver’s seat, contemplating the events that occurred before him. Or maybe he was thinking too much into it. Keiji had a problem with him, not Bokuto or Tsumu, of course he’d be fine. He wasn’t the type to throw a tantrum or have anyone feel bad for something they didn’t do. But if that’s the case, what did Osamu do? What did Osamu do to have his husband not want to be around him anymore? What did he do to lose access to his husband’s smiles? What did he do to lose his laughs? What did Osamu Miya do that was so bad that his husband didn’t like him anymore?

“Is everything okay?” Keiji sat in the passenger’s seat, buckled in long ago. 

Osamu pulled himself out of his head, and willed himself to focus. “Mhm,” was all he could give the man beside him as he pulled out of the parking lot. During the drive home, he felt the need to turn on the car’s air conditioner on cool. It just felt too warm.

\---

The two stood outside together while waiting on a cab, Bokuto’s arm wrapped around the smaller man. “Did you have fun?” a small voice peeped from beneath him. He looked down to see amber eyes staring back at him. Atsumu really was so cute. He gave him an eskimo kiss. 

“Yea, I had fun.”

“I’m glad someone did,” Atsumu mumbled. 

Bokuto was quiet, slipping into contemplative thought. Was it his place to really ask? Was it inappropriate to bring it up at all? Maybe he’ll just let it go and pretend as though he was oblivious during the outing. 

“I know you noticed it, too,” his boyfriend interrupted, as if reading his thoughts. “Guess they’re going through a ‘rough patch’ or some shit. Either way, if anything happens, Samu’ll tell me.”

Bokuto smirked, letting out a low, devilish laugh. “I know you like it rough, and you like patches, but don’t you start getting any ideas.” He braced himself for the sharp pain that was sure to come through to his abdomen, and boy did Atsumu deliver. 

“ _Urusee!_ ” 

Bokuto giggled through the pain. Yup, totally worth it. After recovering, he let himself run his fingers through the setter’s hair, now platinum blonde. He never minded the color before, but he did think this suited him better. He gently smiled as he heard a soft hum of satisfaction from the shorter man. 

“Tsumu?” his voice barely above a whisper, but enough to catch his attention. “How’s your foot?” Bokuto understood that it was a sensitive topic for him. They didn’t talk about it often, but he did check-ins every once in a while to ensure he was okay. Especially in times like this where they were standing for an extended period of time. Who knew it would be so hard to get a cab on a Thursday?

Atsumu took some time to evaluate the pain he felt in his left foot, specifically around the ankle. During their last season, he twisted his ankle during the third set. It wouldn’t have been too bad if it never dragged out to the best of five. With the adrenaline and endorphins coursing through his veins at the time, the pain was there, but wouldn’t compare to what he would feel immediately after the match. Since then, he’d been on strict recovery. No weight on it whatsoever. Atsumu was foolish and selfish in the beginning however, and insisted that a few tosses was “light practice.” Bokuto, equally the fool and equally as selfish, indulged him. They continued to do spiking practice after regular hours (Atsumu couldn’t participate in practice, but would watch Bokuto), only exacerbating the issue. They hung their heads in shame as Dr. Kuroo extended Atsumu’s recovery period and assigned him new medication for the pain. 

“I’m at a seven right now.” Bokuto could hear by the strain of his voice that the medication was wearing off, and that they had to get home soon. 

“A seven? I would at least give you an eight and a half.” Bokuto cackled as Atsumu pushed him away and gave him light punches to stop his hugs as he tried to reconnect with him. 

“Asshole,” he said curtly, making sure to have the last word before entering the cab that finally came. Bokuto eased him in gently before joining him in the back seat. 

As they pulled out the parking lot, Bokuto felt a shiver travel down his spine. He leaned in a bit through the space between the seats. “Uh excuse me…” The driver gave him a hum of acknowledgement without taking their eyes off the road. “Could you turn on the heat please?”

“The _heat_? Kou, don’t tell me yer gettin’ sick on me,” Atsumu warned, not that he could do much if Bokuto caught a cold anyway. 

“I’m not sick. I don’t know, I’m just feelin’ a little cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont really have much to say on this chapter. hope you're enjoying the story so far! is my summary a reference to jjk? yes, yes it is. started reading it during what's technically yesterday now. why? out of pettiness. it be like that sometimes. this whole fic was started out of pettiness and spite tbh. and then i actually started liking it and getting invested????? it's wild, it really is. see you later. i will curse myself if it's in two days hohigohowfe


	6. Zutto Mae Ni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How have you been?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was the hardest chapter for me to write. i knew what i wanted to do but head empty. anyways, enjoy!

He felt it as soon as soon as the tip of his shoe touched the ground. He knew it before he even landed. Either way, nothing could’ve prepared him for the pain when it actually hit. His eyes fluttered as he swayed between the unconscious and conscious worlds. Every nerve in his body screamed in agony as he prayed for the endorphins to kick in and at least ease up on the tension. As the stretcher carried him out, Atsumu came to the resolute fact that his prayers would not be answered. 

An indeterminate amount of time. That’s what was said. He sat in the hospital bed, staring straight ahead. He could only hear the beep of the holter monitor and the occasional shuffling of the man beside him. The man who held his hand gingerly, as if he were going to break like a teacup. He stared and stared at the unchanging, unwavering wall. It reminded him of the doctor who left not long ago. 

“S’not your fault, so you can stop blamin’ yerself,” he started. After not hearing a response for a few minutes, he continued. I’m a big boy, Kou. Ya didn’t drag me there, ya didn’t beg me or nothin’. Hell, the first time I asked, ya even said no. Remember that?” He turned to his side. Bokuto’s chin remained on his chest. Atsumu let out a heavy sigh and looked towards the ceiling. Maybe if he stared long enough, the right words to say would appear. 

“We can’t…” Bokuto’s voice came out, smaller than he intended, but it was still enough to catch Atsumu’s attention. “We can’t....I can’t…” A sniffle finished the sentence for him. Atsumu took his free hand and wiped away a stray tear. 

“Kou, yes you can.”

“No I _can’t._ ” This time his voice came out firm. He looked up at Atsumu, a deep wrinkle in his brow. His golden eyes shined, filled to the brim with tears awaiting their descent. His face began to shade red as he got more worked up. “How am I supposed to without you?”

Atsumu was happy he had an answer before his own heart could break. “Ya gotta do it _for_ me.” With that, he planted a kiss on Bokuto’s forehead. “Just for the rest of the season, babe. That’s it.” He whispered more words of comfort to his boyfriend as he stroked his hair. If he had to be completely honest, they were more for himself than anything.

\---

_It’s just for the rest of the season. It’s just for the rest of the season._

The phrase repeated like a mantra in his head. He said it as he watched the games from his couch. He said it as Bokuto went out in the early mornings for practice. He said it when he returned on the late nights. They had spare setters just for this reason. It’s okay. They’re winning. It’s okay, Bokuto’s- he couldn’t lie to himself about that one. Bokuto’s happy? Please. Bokuto’s a good boyfriend. Bokuto doesn’t say phrases like “You should’ve been there.” Bokuto doesn’t let his eyes get glass in front of him. Bokuto doesn’t go out with the boys to Onigiri Miya after a win. 

He couldn’t watch as Bokuto doted on him. Asking if he wanted anything. Feeling the need to ask if he was okay every few hours, always noticing the slight grimace that was now a constant feature on Atsumu’s face. He was tired of Bokuto jumping up at the mere _suggestion_ that Atsumu thought to stand or stretch or _anything._ He wanted his regular Bokuto. The Bokuto that would give him bone-crushing hugs. The Bokuto who wrestled him for the remote when he tried to change the channel (Bokuto was surprisingly obsessed with Lifetime movies). The one who wasn’t worried about leaving bruises or care to gently handle him. 

It made him sick. Every time Bokuto said “Mm, I don’t wanna” to going out. Bokuto’s “sweet” little acts of service. Asking if _Tsum Tsum_ wanted something to drink while he was in the kitchen. Asking _Tsum Tsum_ if he needed help going to the bathroom. Asking _Tsum Tsum_ how the pain was every two fucking hours. He knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was being the perfect boyfriend, he should be happy. Atsumu’s anger brewed like a pot of coffee. It was nice and fresh, ever present in the beginning, but Bokuto remained patient with him. But if left on the eye too long, coffee burns. 

Atsumu sat on the couch with his leg propped up, and Bokuto’s head in his lap. He gently drew small stars in his hair, and ran his fingers through his mostly silky hair. Atsumu would still find small sticky sections of gel that Bokuto missed in the shower, no longer having his boyfriend to do a thorough onceover. They showered separately now, Atsumu needing the extra support to stand when he accepted the help, and toughing it out alone on his bad days. He could feel Bokuto’s body relax under his touch. This was the best time. 

“Hey Kou.” He kept his voice low, humming as he spoke. Bokuto called this his “sing-song” voice, and said it was his favorite of all the supposedly many voices Atsumu possessed. “You wanna go out?”

Bokuto didn’t take his eyes off the screen. They agreed that tonight would be a Lifetime movie run and tomorrow they would watch what Atsumu called “real movies.” Now playing was “The Pregnancy Project,” a movie that Atsumu was sure was absorbing the remnants of their collective brain cells. Bokuto only hummed in response, glued to the dribble before him. 

“Hey, you listenin’? I’m askin’ if ya wanna go out?”

Bokuto, still in a slight trance on if the girl would go through with the project, mumbled a lazy “Sure, were you hungry?”

Atsumu chuckled to himself. “No, ya goof. We just ate.” Bokuto really was so cute. “Ya wanna like, I dunno, hang out with the boys or somethin’?”

“No, I wanna stay with you,” he said without missing a beat, eyes never leaving the screen. 

Atsumu felt a hint of anger take shape in his chest. He was so upset. Not at Bokuto, but at his stupid self. Bokuto _told_ him the first time that it was a bad idea to “stay for a few tosses.” He just _had_ to sit there and and assure him _it’s fine_ , that it wouldn’t be rigirous work. Even after the first time, Bokuto showed hesitance. Why? Because he’s a good fucking boyfriend. When he asked if Atsumu wanted to rest after a few tosses, when he asked about the doctor recommending to let up, when he asked-

“I want you to go out.” It came out more harsh than intended and he instantly regretted it as soon as Bokuto’s face snapped up to look at him. Bokuto took a breath, turned off the tv, and sat up so that they were face to face. 

“What’s the real issue?” For as much as people like to joke about Bokuto, he was oddly perceptive. It shouldn’t have been hard to imagine that he was as emotionally intelligent as he was, especially since he was so, uh, intune with his own feelings, as one might say. Either way, Atsumu hated it. He loved it, but he hated it. Especially right now. He was finally becoming comfortable with vulnerability, but this left him too exposed for his liking.

A part of him thought to lie. Then his one, hard working brain cell decided against it. “I’m tired of ya babyin’ me all the time.”

“Why?”

“Cause it’s embarrassin’.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m a grown man and I should be able to take care of myself.”

Bokuto let out a deep sigh. He grabbed Atusumu’s hands in his own, rubbing the pads of his thumb over his boyfriend’s palms. “And why do you feel like you have to do that? To take care of yourself, I mean I’m _right here,_ aren’t I?” He never looked up. He held on to his hands, studying them as if they were the most interesting things in the world. 

“Yea, but that’s not yer job-”

“Then what _is_ my job?” Bokuto’s eyes met Atsumu’s, glistening with tears waiting to fall. “What _is_ my job? Maybe it was my job to tell you no to that practice. That first one, maybe even the second one. Maybe it was my job to tell you to sit out that game. Or that set, or…” Bokuto looked off to the side, facing the now blank television screen. He had only his reflection to see. 

“I shouldn’ta asked ya.”

“I shouldn’t’ve said yes.”

A few years passed in those seconds of silence before one of them spoke up.

“I don’t…I don’t wanna feel like I’m dragging ya down." Atsumu unconsciously made a slight pull away from Bokuto’s hands. He looked down to see that they were firmly in his grip. “And I know yer gonna say I’m not, but, it’s just how I feel, ya know? I just want things to go back to normal. As much as they can.” Tears raced down Atsumu’s cheeks as he heard what was his own voice cracking. He felt Bokuto’s calloused, but gentle hands caress his cheek, catching the tears that slipped away. His eyes said that he can make it “normal.” Of course he would, he’s just that good of a fucking boyfriend.

\---

“You wanna come with?” Bokuto laced up his shoes at the genkan. He wore a light tank top hoodie and jogging shorts. Atsumu sat on the couch with his leg propped up on the ottoman, stretching off the drowsiness brought by the early morning. He insisted on continuing to wake up early despite being unable to train. It was to “maintain his circadian rhythm.” After trying to explain it to Bokuto for too long, he simply summed it up as “So I don’t turn into a lazy ass” and that was that. 

“Oh yea, sure. Lemme just get my crutches so I can leave yer ass in the dust. Go on, get outta here.” His voice was light again, his eyes shone with mischief and mirth once more. He almost looked happy. 

“Geez, didn’t know you wanted to get rid of me _that_ bad,” Bokuto lauged, finally standing up. “Be back soon. Love ya.” He gave Atsumu one of his infamous Bokuto Beams. It may work on fans, but the most he could get out of Atsumu was gagging and choking noises. Bokuto blew a kiss, at which Atsumu clutched his chest, feigning to croak.

As his limp body fell over, he let out one last, “Hey Kou? Love ya,” before waving goodbye as Bokuto left for his morning run. 

Bokuto began his jog for the nth time. He’d usually have Atsumu there to banter with him, but these mornings were now spent quietly contemplating. It started small. _I wish Tsumu were here. Ha, he’d make fun of that lady’s hat._ Passing thoughts carried away with the wind. As the weeks rolled by, his loneliness grew. He had imaginations. No. Dreams? Maybe memories of a life not his own. He indulged in them, his partner’s lack of presence no longer occupying his mind. 

Each morning was spent getting lost in the worlds his mind would bring. He saw himself in the Heian period, a peasant working the paddy fields as the central government moved power over to the zuryou. He remembers the faint feeling of shock as the child emperor, Seiwa was throned at the age of nine. He has flashes of the Kamakura period, feeling wood shape and bend underneath his fingers as he carved a koushou of a famous priest. One morning, he found himself led by Prince Morinaga to try and overthrow the bakufu during the Muromachi period. His mother always said that he had such a vivid imagination. The way Bokuto saw things, so many times he had it felt like he was _there_ , and that he wasn’t alone.

He let himself be swept away in these times, reliving what once was. As he rounded the street corners and followed the crosses and bends, he was occupied by these visions of, well not grandeur, but of simple, quaint lives. Of battle and glory. Of love. He felt a familiar thread weaving its way through each of these scenes. He found himself reaching out, trying to wrap his fingers around something that felt just too far. It reappeared in his unconscious mind. Determined to not let go, he held onto it with all his might. Though a part of him wondered if it was worth it this time around. 

Bokuto, having finished the first part of his run, decided to visit a nearby coffee shop. He was never too fond of coffee himself, but he knew it had been a while since Atsumu had a cup of his own. Not that he needed it really, since the most intense training he did at this point was his physical therapy. Even still, it didn’t hurt to grab him something while he was out. Walking into the shop, he was bombarded by the many scents that dwelled in the air. The smell of freshly ground coffee beans, cooling cinnamon rolls, blueberry muffins, and many others combined to create the perfect symphony. Bokuto had to admit, despite not liking coffee, the aroma was always oddly attractive.

He places an order for a blonde espresso with two pumps of caramel, and a shot of soy milk. While waiting at the designated pick-up window, he takes a look around. He realizes that he never really does look around when he’s in here, since he’s usually with Atsumu, and honestly, what else is there to look at when he’s your view? He hears a fervent _clickity-clackity_ of keys to his left. He sees a familiar figure typing away on a laptop with _way_ too many papers on the small table he occupies. Geez, what was his name again?

“Hey, uh...Agaashii-san, was it?”

The typing comes to a halt, and the man looks up from his laptop. A gentle smile reaches his lips. “It’s Akaashi.”

“Oh, right.” Bokuto turns his eyes away, his face already hinting at the slight embarrassment. 

Keiji stares curiously at the man for a moment before making a comment. “Bokuto-san, I don’t remember seeing you here other days, are you getting into coffee?”

Bokuto makes a face at the thought. “This crap, never. Tsum Tsum likes it though, so I thought why not get him a cup.” And at that, the cashier calls for a Bokuto, cutting the already bare conversation short. “Well I guess I’ll see you around.”

Keiji takes a second to entertain the thought. “Yes, I guess you will.”

\---

Bokuto spends his mornings kissing Atsumu goodbye, traversing lifetimes across periods of Japan, and visiting the quaint coffee shop just a quarter mile further than the end of his trek. He orders a blonde espresso with all its adornments, and has a small chat with the editor who types away at the table not too far from the counter. Saving for games, it’s become a part of his new routine. Atsumu doesn’t mind the extra coffee, and he doesn’t mind the extra run. He hadn’t even noticed that it’s been weeks since he’s dreamed. 

He felt himself getting excited to leave in the mornings. Wishing luck on Atsumu’s physical training, he started on the familiar path. Visions of serving an emperor, working as a daimyo, and building the Houryuu Temple faded away the more he visited the coffee shop. Instead, his head was filled with curiosities about the man who typed away every morning. Conversation starters began to make their claim to his never ending thoughts. Intrigue into the life of the other man grew. Though with every answer, laugh, or perplexed look at Bokuto’s outlandish behavior, the volleyball player couldn’t help but admit that something felt familiar. 

“Akashi-san,” he started one morning. Bokuto sat across from the editor at the small, circular table. The espresso machine jammed midway into his boyfriend’s drink. It was now being assessed by a few less than enthused employees as the morning rush began to come in. “How come I never see you drink coffee?”

Keiji looked up from his notes, and gave a soft smile before beginning. “Well for one, it’s _Akaashi_ ,” he chuckled, finding amusement watching Bokuto trying to hide his blush. “I do drink coffee, I just finish it before you get here.”

“Oh,” was all Bokuto could offer in return. He drummed his fingers on the table, stopping when he finally came up with an excuse to not let the conversation die. “How come you’re here all the time?”

Keiji’s pen paused for just a moment before resuming writing. “I like it here. Besides the morning rush and a few customers here and there, it’s nice.”

“Ah so it must be easier working here than at Onigiri Miya all day, huh? I know it can get pretty loud in there, ha.” Bokuto grinned widely, reminiscing at the times he spent there with his team after a game. The late nights, the near fights, and time after hours he had with Atsumu. The quiet talks, the shy giggles, and the teasing before deciding to melt into each other’s arms. After a small hum of satisfaction, he noticed that Keiji wasn’t exactly returning the sentiment. “Or was it not because of that?” he asked curiously. 

Upon the question, Keiji realized that he was too quiet. He should’ve known better than to let himself get caught up in his own thoughts. “Yea, it’s just too much sometimes, you know?”

Bokuto watched him with focused eyes. Keiji felt as though he was shrinking under the man’s gaze. His first instinct was to turn away, usually shying at direct and unexpected eye contact. Even now, feeling himself be studied under his own husband’s eyes would leave him just as flustered as those high school days. Though as of late, the unamused stare, usually riddled with mirth, was nowhere to be found. His grey eyes made passing sweeps over him, no longer lingering where they “shouldn’t be.” They seemed to acknowledge his existence, and nothing more.

The golden eyes before him invited him to stare back, and so he did. First focusing on the reflection of himself in the man’s irises before taking a dive into him. He was surrounded by light, by the sun, by a star. He let himself sink into the various shades that riddled the edges of his pupil before letting himself be swallowed into the abyss that was Bokuto Koutarou. He felt warmth, a heated blanket in early winter. The sun kissing his face as it rose in the early dawn. The snow melting in the wake of spring. 

“Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto reeled himself back into reality. “Guess that’s me, huh?” he chuckled before rising from his seat. The staff was finally finished rectifying the issue, and even provided a larger size due to the inconvenience. He knew Atsumu wouldn’t finish it, but took the order and offered his thanks all the same. Before making his leave with the newly finished espresso, Bokuto turned back towards the editor. “See around then?”

Keiji sat at the table, still unable to pull himself completely back to his setting. “Uh, yea. See you around then." And with that, a small bell jingled, closing Keiji off from the world that was. He leaned back in his chair to stretch. As he resumed working on the manga, if he wasn't mistaken, he could detect a light scent of lemon.

\---

Bokuto opted for a light jog back to the place that he and Atsumu now shared. With the familiarity of the trail, he decided to let himself fall once again, into the depths of the ocean. He couldn’t help but be intoxicated by Keiji’s eyes, the gunmetal blue eyes. They dragged him into the deep, allowing no time for rest as they showed him wonders unknown. He let himself be taken to see the secrets of the sea, admiring every meter that took him further into Keiji. Under the pressures of the deep, he felt like he could finally breathe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i actually did some research for this bit. i wanted to make sure it made at least a little sense so i used this website as a reference. hope you liked it!
> 
> https://www.britannica.com/place/Japan


	7. Misute Rareta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What we were. What it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really like this chapter. idk why, but i really like it

He felt the bed shift as Osamu rose. He heard the familiar sounds of him getting ready to leave. He heard a soft click as Osamu closed the bedroom door behind him. Keiji knew better than to wait for a kiss that wouldn’t come. It’s been long enough for him to learn.

When he was sure the car pulled away from the kitchen, he began a routine of his own. The sound of the shower echoed throughout the apartment. Brushing his teeth felt as loud as a stereo. His small footsteps sounded like miniature earthquakes as he made his way to the genkan, laptop and documents in tow. He’d be happy to hear  _ something, anything _ to distract him from this deafening silence. 

The humidity bombarded his glasses as he stepped out into the dew-smitten air. Usually he’d be annoyed and curse the air and its ability to carry these microdroplets. This morning, however, he chuckled to himself as he remembered a conversation he had with Bokuto about it one time. The volleyball player mentioned that it looked like the glasses effect found in shonen anime. Since then, he found the humor in it despite the inconvenience. Wiping his glasses with the hem of his coat, he made his way to his favorite shop.

He walked into the shop and was greeted by the same set of familiar faces. He walked to the counter to see his drink at the register. By now, they knew his order in and out. The once aloof editor became one of their favorite customers. Though he couldn’t give details, they always wondered “Keiji-san, which one are you working on today?” He remembers the day he decided to use his given name the first time he came, hesitant and slightly uncomfortable hearing it from the mouths of strangers. After a while, he got used to it just as they got used to him. It just made things easier. 

He takes out exact change. After becoming a regular patron over the past few months, it came out with ease. He thanks the cashier as always, and promptly heads over to his favorite table.

Keiji lets the smell of the black, dark roast coffee make its entrance into his nostrils and straight to his brain. He knew it didn’t hold as much caffeine as a regular cup, but there was something about the strong taste that drew him to it. The bold flavor that demanded attention. Keiji was happy to entertain it every morning as he felt the coffee’s warmth made his chest its home. Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, he looked up to see the one regular he could recognize anywhere. 

The light sweat glistened on his toned body. It was just enough for his tank top hoodie to cling in some places, giving a preview to what lied underneath. He took a breath at the doorway, embracing the cool, welcoming feeling of a/c. After getting his breathing down, it took him less than a second to find Keiji at his usual table. He gave a wide grin and an enthusiastic wave. Even after running for who knows how long, he still had the energy to frantically call for Keiji’s attention. Not that he needed to anyway. 

Bokuto looks towards the counter where the clerk is patiently waiting. They were more so waiting on the go ahead to begin, if anything. By now, everyone knew about the blonde he faithfully came for every morning. He paid in advance, but asked the cashier to wait a while before fulfilling it. They didn’t mind. It meant more time to traverse the outlines of his muscles that peeked through his top, so it was no harm, no foul. Watching him involuntarily flex as he excitedly spoke with the man at the table, muscles contracting, twisting and bending as he gave wild gestures with each story. They truly were an attractive couple. 

The cashier watched fondly over the course of months at the budding relationship. Brows furrowed, and nose wrinkled would the man with the glasses begin the day. Even on his worst days (though to be fair, his worst days were some people’s best with his looks), was the spiky-haired athlete able to come in and relieve him of any worries that plagued him before arriving. It was due to him that the clerk first saw the unhappy man smile. It was through him that they heard him laugh. Who knew that such an angelic sound would be punctuated by the occasional snort. 

They watched as Bokuto-san came in excitedly each morning, ready to chirp away at whatever came to his mind. A great spike that happened during practice, the  _ funniest  _ thing Shouyou said yesterday, something cute his dog did when he was younger. Though on the sidelines of it all, they were invested just the same. Even when not talking to you, Bokuto-san held his own gravity, pulling and demanding attention from everyone within a ten mile radius. There was a fleeting thought that he might be a star. 

The cashier checked the time. The morning rush should be coming any minute now. They did a last sweep of the supplies before mentally preparing for the storm to come. Cups were good, they had enough coffee beans, two new pots were almost done brewing, and so on and so forth. Satisfied at what they saw, they stood behind the counter as the first few guests came in. It was nothing too crazy for the most part: a lot of regular coffees, a few with flavor shots or extra cream, and something iced on occasion. The team took the rush in stride, seasoned after the many they previously endured.

Something that they could never get used to, despite himself making the shop his home, was Kohi-jiisan. He was often crabby, but that was never anything new. He’d ask about the new flavors for each season and ask why this flavor wasn’t available year round because it was good and they should give the people what they want and-

The cashier could feel an oncoming headache as the store quieted down, just to see him at the door. Of all the things that were unfortunate to deal with customer wise, he was definitely the most annoying. The question was never of  _ if  _ he was going to complain that day. It was a matter of what about and for how long. The employee tried to keep an even expression, the many attempts at keeping a fake smile were abandoned, as everyone knew what they were here for at this point. 

“Irasshaimase.” They always seemed to surprise themselves with how calm they could sound. 

“Hai, hai. Can I just have a regular coffee?” The older man looked into a coin purse to gather the amount needed for the charge, leaving the cashier stunned. 

“Of course. Um, 275 yen.” They rang up the order, not trying to hide their confusion as they did so. They quietly accepted the money, and began on the order, the whole while curiously watching the senior. They shied away when he met their gaze. 

“Yer probably wonderin’ what’s got me in such a good mood.” The cashier stayed quiet as they stirred the sugar and creamer together, preparing for the coffee as a finisher. “I don’t know maself. I woke up this mornin’, back wasn’t hurtin’. No kids makin’ noise and none of those fancy scooters or people on their phones hoggin’ up the walkway.” He went on and on about the little things he found on his journey to the coffee shop. Minor inconveniences for most became big deals for him, so it just made sense that it worked in the reverse. 

“Anywho, all’s to say, nothin’ happened today. ‘N’ I rather like that.”

As they handed him the coffee with a thank you for coming, they were surprised to hear him hum in content as he took a sip. They watched him sit at his favorite table to read the paper for that day. Customers walking by weren’t a point of contention. The small children harping on their parents for cinnamon rolls didn’t earn any grumbles or sly comments that day. Kohi-jiisan was perfectly at peace. They were sure that this was, by far, the strangest shift they’ve had yet. 

\---

Bokuto stepped into the apartment and removed his shoes at the genkan. Looking at the time, Atsumu should be here any minute now. He opted for a shower to wash off the early morning sweat. Everything was so quiet without Atsumu. He didn’t want Bokuto to be there during his physical training. He said it was “suffocating” and that he’d just tell him a rundown when he got home. If Bokuto could pick one thing to change about Atsumu, it was his resistance in accepting help when he needed it. He was fine with little things (“Kou, can ya get the door for me? Kou, pass me that, I can’t reach.”), but it was especially in times like this where he missed the loud and brash Atsumu who would speak his mind first and deal with the consequences after. Bokuto came to a small acceptance that he could never really get Atsumu out of his head.

He flipped through the channels aimlessly for a while before dozing off. He didn’t know how much time passed when he felt a few gentle fingers running themselves through his hair. He opened his eyes to see Atsumu mindlessly running his fingers through his silver and black streaks. Atsumu looked up from his phone after feeling a light shift from Bokuto. 

“Ohayou,” was all he could get out before letting out a yawn, shaking off the last of the drowsiness. 

“Ohayou.” Atsumu gave him a tired smile. It was one in the afternoon. “Ya know, the doc said I can do some light training and stuff.” He put a hand over Bokuto’s mouth as it opened in protest. “That means joggin’, and some stretches. That’s it.” He felt Bokuto’s body relax under his touch. “Ya know what that means?” he asked in a low, sultry voice. 

“Oya?” Bokuto sat up, his hand following the curvature of Atsumu’s thigh. It carefully made it’s way to-

“I can finally start runnin’ with ya again, ya horny goof.” He threw a pillow at Bokuto’s face, now pouting in disappointment. 

“I guess,” squeezed its way out of reluctance. His thick arms were crossed along his chest, showing off the tens of thousands of hours of training. Atsumu couldn’t help but admit that he felt a slight hitch in his breathing when seeing the man’s forearms. 

Gathering himself, he turned back to mischief. “What’re ya sayin’, ya don’t want me to go or something?” Atsumu braced himself as the larger man engulfed him in his beefy biceps. 

“Course I want you to go.” He nuzzled into his neck. When Bokuto got like this, he often reminded him of a big dog who forgot it wasn’t a puppy anymore. He really was so cute.

\---

Even after all the downtime, Atsumu was able to almost keep pace. He  _ was  _ grateful that Bokuto kept a slower gait with him without making it a big deal. Running their course together felt like revisiting old times. He was happy. Finally able to go places without the crutches, he felt as though he could face his team and his boyfriend headon, though neither said that that was a prerequisite to spending time together. It was his own insecurity and shame that hid him away. He should’ve known better than to go against the doctor’s orders the first time, and wouldn’t be making that mistake again. 

He and Bokuto didn’t talk much during the trek, and that was fine. Atsumu was able to find a comfortable silence in Bokuto’s presence. Though known for his loud and extravagant personality, his emotional strength and intelligence held them together when he couldn’t. He remembers the nights of wins and losses, calling Atsumu, begging him to come out and enjoy. He remembers everyone saying they missed him, in their own way of course, considering he was  _ still  _ Atsumu. The tender invites to picnic dates and to see movies they were waiting on. He remembered how they slowly trailed off, until once every few days became once a week. Once a week became light kisses on the forehead as he returned from a late night.

Even still, Bokuto regained his jovial nature. His spirits remained high, and he couldn’t thank him enough for his patience. The light smile that played on his lips when he came back from each run; the laugh that would illuminate the room, now brighter than ever before; the way he would rail into him, ankle be damned; it all returned, Bokuto had finally come home. 

Atsumu took in the fresh, outside air. Though he’d been outside a few times semi regularly (taking small walks while Bokuto was on his run or visiting the park in the dead of night), he could finally feel almost normal again. No longer did he desperately cling to his crutches for support, or feel an intense pain in his ankle with just a quarter of his weight. Though the faintest hint of sensitivity remained, he was grateful to even keep the pace he was now. He was sure to follow exactly as his doctor said, now that he’d been given a second chance. He glanced to his right at the burly man beside him. His eyes were focused, knowing only the road ahead. Atsumu had been a half second too late to realize that just before, those eyes were focused on him.

As they reached the end of their journey, Bokuto slowed. Atsumu understood the hint, following until they came to a complete halt. Atsumu felt a dull throb in his ankle, but it was nothing less than what he expected. He took a moment to appreciate the mundane scenery that seemed so foreign to him now. People littered the streets with various activities: dog walkers cautiously introducing their pups; fathers out for walks with their toddler; a few kids making their way to school in the early morning. He never knew how he could miss it so much. He looked over to Bokuto, who was now facing the way home. 

“Kou, where’re ya goin’?” 

“Hm? This is the end, remember? Unless you wanna rest a bit before heading back.”

“Oh I just wanted to see that coffee shop s’all.” He continued when Bokuto gave him a perplexed look. “C’mon don’t tell me ya already forgot now that I’m better or somethin’. ‘Member you gettin’ me that coffee every day when you’d be out by yerself?” He laughed lightly, tapping Bokuto on the shoulder and bringing him back to reality.

“Ah yea. Sorry babe, must’ve forgot.” He let out a brief airy chuckle. “Are you sure you can make it? I don’t wanna...you know.” He trailed off, afraid to speak his fear outloud. 

Atsumu’s face twisted in worry. “How far is it?” How far had Bokuto been going just to get him a stupid coffee?

“Uh, about a quarter mile or so?” Bokuto placed a hand on the back of his neck, and looked off to the side. A small part of him hoping the distance would deter his boyfriend. 

“Ah that’s not too bad. Probably couldn’t run there or nothin’ since we gotta run back. You mind walkin’?”

Bokuto answered “Sure,” hoping Atsumu wouldn’t pick up on the slight hesitance in his voice. 

He did. 

\---

Atsumu was filled by the wonderful scents that became home to Bokuto. They surrounded him and welcomed him with comforting arms. He let himself be swallowed by the scenery before the memories returned. 

“Wait, I remember here! Geez, we haven’t been here in  _ ages,  _ huh? That must be why yer so obsessed. You don’t want me knowin’ yer gettin’ all soft, hm?” He gave the taller man a smug look that only Miya Atsumu could give. He was satisfied with the rosy blush that made itself apparent as his boyfriend averted his gaze. 

“Welcome back, Bokuto-san!” a cashier chirped from behind the counter. It took them a moment before registering the man standing next to him. “Oh, you’ve brought a friend today?”

The couple approached the register. “Oh ya know, just the blondie he’s been buying the blondes for.” Atsumu did a totally not cringey wink before clearing his throat to continue. “Um, but yea. I can see Mr. Bokuto-san has been  _ really  _ on it.” He looked up to meet Bokuto’s eyes, almost unwillingly fixed on Atsumu. “I love ya babe,” he let out in a low whisper, lightly squeezing the larger man’s hand. 

“I love you, too.”

The cashier calmly typed in the order from memory. They were a master at hiding emotions due to their extensive experience that was customer service. They gave a bright smile as they handed over the coffee and offered a treat to accompany it. They were even able to give a compliment to the couple, and inquire about how long they were dating. They feigned fondness and longing for the relationship the two had. They gave a hum of satisfaction when the blonde was able to convince his boyfriend that they should sit in. They went back washing the tools used in making the drink and wiping away stray drops on the counter. They did their best to ignore the typing that ceased at the table next to them.

\---

Once the volleyball season ended, so did the visits to the cafe. Keiji was used to being alone. He was used to being ignored. Though why did it feel so different? He had no place to feel this way. He had no right. He knew that as well as anyone. He knew. He  _ knew. _

Finding himself disgusted with, whatever this was, he left the cafe early one afternoon. While walking aimlessly in an attempt to find composure, a  _ maybe _ terrible thought crossed his mind. He traveled along the familiar path to a shop he hadn’t seen in ages, though it used to be his home. Why was he here? What did he want? What was he looking for? A small jingle at the door pulled him out of his daze. 

“Irasshai-” Shitsuren stood behind the counter, mouth agape. “Uh, irasshaimase, Keiji-san.”

Keiji made uncomfortable eye contact with the young boy. His figure was slowly filling out, his jaw now ever so slightly squared. Has it really been that long? “Kika-kun. Ah, how have you been?” He was unable to take the brokenness out of his voice.

“I, uh, we’ve been fine.” He couldn’t offer the stranger much more.

“Ah, that’s good.” He made a quick look around the restaurant. A few people were scattered around the seating. There was a low hum of chatter that permeated the room, though compared to the sound of his heart threatening to jump through his chest, it was comparable to silence.

“So where’s-”

“He left to go and get some supplies. We ran out of umeboshi faster than he expected.”

Keiji felt a slight twinge of guilt weasel its way into his chest. “He could’ve called me-”

“Could he?” Shitsuren was mortified as he heard his thought force itself through his lips, leaving nowhere to hide. He couldn’t face the man before him, so he began to pretend to prepare a few onigiri. For who? He couldn’t tell you if you’d ask. “Keiji-san, did you need something?”

The older man stood near the doorway, wondering how appropriate it really was to run. He pondered the question for far too long. It didn’t matter, the cook didn’t have the energy to fill the silence, so he had all the time to think. He did  _ need  _ something. He knew he needed  _ something. _ Why did he come here? Why did he make his way to Onigiri Miya? What would he have said if Osamu were there?

“Keiji-san, the rush is coming soon. If you don’t need anything…” Shitsuren let himself trail off, but Keiji took the hint. 

“It’s fine. I’m happy to see that you’re well.” A low hum was the only response he received. “Well, good luck for today. I’ll…” What? He’ll what? What could he possibly do? “I’ll be on my way.”

  
Keiji made his way home, well, to his apartment anyway.  _ Their _ apartment. In recent times, it felt like it didn’t belong to either of them. Coldness and indifference waded through the apartment. The low vibration of anger and resentment seeped into the very walls, coating each room like mucus along the lungs. As the hot tears ran down his face, it was confirmation that it was the only warmth that he would feel for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed it! i tried to be fancy again and make a character name lol. here is the kanji for Kohi-jiisan. 古火 im coming to the end soon, so let's see where it goes. i actually changed a few things in this chapter from my original outline, but i like how it turned out
> 
> 11/21 the temptation to stop here is SO real dyoxyixyixiyixkxy I almost left y'all with chapter three lmaooo
> 
> 11/22 forgot to mention. nonbinary cashier hc go brrrrrr


	8. Nakinagara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omoidasu haru no hi...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is pretty cool. i liked writing it anyway

He never stopped going to the shop. Why should he? He’s been going there for almost a year now, there’s no need to stop. Besides, it didn’t  _ belong  _ to anyone anyway, so who’s to say he can’t go there? He found it first. Well, technically,  _ they  _ found it first, but you can’t find something that already exists, so in all honesty  _ no one  _ found it because it was already there and-

The jingle of the bell hanging from the door snapped him back into reality. An athletic couple entered with light sweat leaving a small hint of shine on their exposed skin. They walked to the counter and ordered the same drink that would take Bokuto away from him every morning. That would remind him that those laughs, smiles, dumb jokes and memories were shared with someone else. That and so much more. Keiji gripped his pen even harder and forced himself to look towards his laptop. His stomach churned with a familiar feeling that was lost long ago. He pushed it down to the deepest parts of the ocean. He fought to keep it at bay, to deny its existence, to wipe it on the face of the earth. But even he couldn’t edit out reality.

His eyes tried to stay trained on his laptop. Trained on his notes. Trained on things that would bring him fulfillment upon completion. His ears remained traitorous. The soft giggles, the resounding laughter, the whispers meant for only two to hear. He couldn’t make noises stop. He couldn’t make his ears stop hearing the snickers that he looked forward to in-looked forward to? Whose thoughts were these?  _ You’ve got two more panels, Keiji. _

He returned to his place of residence on another late night. The car was in the driveway, but the lights were off when he got inside. Osamu was asleep. He often went to bed early these days. Or at least he tried to go before Keiji returned home. It was easier than another awkward dinner; than trying to avoid eye contact; than dancing around each other in the now too small apartment. Only the dance they did now was uncoordinated, sloppy. They often stepped on each other’s feet, they fell out of rhythm-that’s if they had any at all. Awkward “Sorrys” and “I’m going this ways” were a bulk of their speech. Getting into the shower was now a cue line, each of them taking a number. The bed felt too big and too small.

He did his best to remain quiet as he removed his shoes at the genkan. He tiptoed to the dining room table to put down his work for the night. A small platter lays in the middle, waiting to be claimed. He knew it all too well, it was a set of onigiri. His heart stopped. He stared at something that shouldn’t feel nostalgic. After holding back the tears that dared to breach, he reached over shakily at the food. He did a full turn on it. There was no accompanying note.

Guilt helped stave away his hunger as he made his way into the shower. The soap and water weren’t enough. They weren’t enough to cleanse away the pain. The fear. The loneliness. The steaming water wasn’t enough to wash away the cold. He craved it once again: tender fingers running themselves through his hair. Soft giggles as shapes were made with excess amounts of shampoo. The silent hum of satisfaction as the man who used to be with him would rinse off. He missed the shower being just a little too small. 

Goosebumps riddles his skin as he stepped out into the hallway. He softly turned the door’s knob, hoping not to wake the figure lying in bed. He gently lifts up the blanket on his side of the bed, and faces away from, as he’d done every night for the past few months now. Why play the game? Why go on with something that was so...so broken? Keiji takes a shaky breath as he settles in, making small circles with his hips to find a comfortable position. Laying his glasses on the nightstand, he closes his eyes and tries his best to sleep another eventless day away.

A few minutes tick by on the digital clock. He feels the bed shift. Osamu was never the type to move in his sleep. Bathroom maybe? He feels an arm wrap around his waist. Initially stiffening at the original touch, he relaxes his body on the familiar, yet foregin touch. He dares to scoot into the arm, which tightens its grip and pulls him closer in response. His body fits into the spot once meant just for him. It’s not long before he begins heaving and starts letting out small sobs that grow. The arm holds him tight. He feels a small warmth on the back of his neck as Osamu leans into him. Between broken cries and shaky breaths, he swears he could hear a few small sniffles from Osamu too.

\---

He sees them all. Stolen glances. Distracted laughter. A faint distance is growing. Bokuto isn’t as subtle as he thinks. Or maybe Atsumu is more perceptive than his boyfriend tends to believe. Did it matter? Either way, Atsumu knew. 

Another morning began just the same. Some banter was thrown. A kiss or two. A hand around the waist. Even some light flirting. He couldn’t muster much more. He didn’t have the energy. 

“Tsum Tsum? Aren’t you coming?” 

Bokuto stood by the door, waiting on Atsumu, who was still sporting his pajama pants. He was reaching into the kitchen cabinet, looking for nothing in particular. “Yea babe, just go. I got some stuff I gotta take care of.”

Bokuto hesitated at his eagerness to take the chance as it came. “You sure, we could do it together, the road’s not going anywhere, ha.” He tried to give an air of worry, of concern. Too bad he was dating Atsumu. 

“Yea, I’ll just go sometime later. S’fine.” He continued rummaging in the cabinet. Maybe he’d find what he was missing. Maybe he’d find what stole Bokuto away. Maybe he’d find what they had before. 

Bokuto lingered a few seconds, waiting on Atsumu to change his mind. Waiting on him to follow up with a quip.  _ Like hell I’d let ya off that easy. Yer stuck with me,  _ Bokkun. He waited for an outburst of protest as he laced his shoes. For a squawk of regret as he turned the door handle. As he blew his boyfriend a kiss goodbye. Bokuto was too naive to stop waiting, even after he made his way to the coffee shop. All he had to do was wait, and Atsumu would return to him.

A small wave of relief washed over him as he walked through the door. He eyes almost instantly darting over to the table where he sat so many times before. There, almost frozen in time, was his editor. Faithfully typing away and scribbling notes only he could read. Bokuto welcomed the fondness that washed over him. Not in  _ that  _ way. It felt akin to reconnecting with an old friend. A really old friend. 

He almost lept in the man’s direction before slowing down to a reasonable pace. “Hey.”

Keiji’s head would have snapped up if he had the energy. He met Bokuto with puffy eyes, bags giving his once plump face dimension. He smiled weakly. “Hey.”

Bokuto shifted his weight between his feet like a small child trying to lie themselves out of a sticky situation. He stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned back to the balls of his feet. “So,” he started, not exactly sure where to start. “Whatcha working on now?” His voice came out timid for an almost two hundred pound man.

“Ah, nothing particularly interesting this time around. Just some stupid manga about if shoes had feelings.” Keiji rubbed the bridge of his nose in despair. 

“Oh I remember you telling me about that one!” Bokuto piped up, glad he could remember after all this time. 

“Did I?” Keiji wouldn’t be surprised if his memory started to go. There was already so much on his mind already. 

“Yea, when we went to get mochi. Remember?”

Keiji felt...uncomfortable. They never went to get mochi. They never went  _ anywhere _ . But he couldn’t help but think it felt oddly familiar. It felt like trying to remember an event after having a concussion. A vague, fuzzy image rested in his mind, but that was all. 

“Yea, I guess so.”

“Yea, you told me about how he went on and on about how house slippers would be all hoity toity, and sneakers would be the bottom of the barrel.  _ Unless- _ ”

“Unless they were running shoes made for athletes. How…”

They let the question hang in the air, both afraid to admit its implications. 

“So uh, could I see it?” Bokuto did a light wringing of his hands; a habit he picked up from Keiji but couldn’t quite get rid of. Atsumu asked him about it once, but he could never pinpoint its origin. 

“Um, yea. Sure.” Keiji turned the laptop over a bit, inviting him to sit at the table. 

Bokuto took the invitation, pulling out the chair to join him at the table. He did his best to focus on the panels and images flashing before him as Keiji explained the ridiculousness of the fashion show arc. He watched as the man’s slender fingers traveled over the trackpad, expertly going over a few keys to type in notes here and there. He watched as Keiji went through the five stages of grief while going through manga, relaying the details of the of the idiotic plotline. He giggled softly at his expressions of despair. As he watched him throw around grand gestures and the occasional word he couldn’t understand. He had one fleeting thought that made its rounds every few minutes.  _ Keiji, drown me in you. _

At the other end of the coffee shop, an old man hummed happily to himself. 

\---

A few more mornings went by this way. Or was it more? Keiji couldn’t tell. Every hour felt like minutes when they would talk. And every minute, seconds. Bokuto began staying longer and longer. Forgetting to order the coffee altogether sometimes until Keiji reminded right before leaving through the door. After some time, there was no coffee to be had. No order to be forgotten. Life went on without his signature blonde.

Keiji basked in Bokuto’s natural light. He was consumed by his laugh, swallowed whole by his gravity. He felt drawn to the man, unable to pull away. Would he want to?  _ Bokuto, swallow me whole. _ Keiji relished in every giggle, snicker, and chuckle. He wasn’t a funny person, no, but when Bokuto laughed that way, he could almost think otherwise. He felt a heat in his chest and a flutter in his stomach. Bokuto shone brighter than a star.

Another morning came as he waited expectantly at the table. Well, maybe not expectantly, though he was right to look forward to something, right? He got into his work rhythm, trying to keep pace as unease churned in his stomach. Backflips, cartwheels, and somersaults were just a few of the tricks his stomach performed that morning as he sat at the table. Waiting.

The morning rush arrives. Kanashi-kun orders an americano with two extra shots of espresso (Keiji always wondered if that was legal). From the bag slung across his shoulder, and the occasional set of folders and papers he cradled in his arms, Keiji could recognize the struggle of a college student. He had visions of his past, thinking back to the way he would scurry into shops just like this one before class.

It’s been a week now. He tried not to check the time again. He’s late. _ Was he _ ? There wasn’t a specific time they planned.  _ Planned _ ? They never  _ planned _ ”anything. What was he talking about? They weren’t even close enough to plan. Were they? Why wouldn’t they be?  _ Stop thinking. Stop.  _

Two weeks later, a familiar face comes through the door. He tries not to look too...too...excited? Maybe that’s not the right word. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. “Wrong words” didn’t exist with Bokuto. He felt at ease. He looked towards the man as he stood abashedly at the doorway. He gave Keiji a small smile and wave, his shy nature completely contrasting the man Keiji knew. He gave a small, inviting smile his way. One that said “We don’t have to talk about it.” He watched as a wave of relief washed over Bokuto’s face, feeling relief himself as he finally approached.

Once he sat down, Keiji resumed typing. He began filling him in on his most recent manga as if only a day had passed. 

“Hey, Akaashi-kun.”

Keiji slowly looked up to face the origin of the small voice before him. “Hm, Bokuto-san?”

“What are you doing after this?”

Keiji paused, taking a moment to comprehend the question. “Wha-what?”

Bokuto waved his hand ambiguously. “You know, after this?”

“Um…” He looked off to the side for a moment, before returning to his gaze. “Um, I’m working?”

Bokuto let out a hearty laugh. “No no no, what are you doing  _ after  _ work?”

Keiji felt a tightening in his chest and a knot in his stomach. “Um...going home?”

The athlete held his head in his hands and let out one last chuckle before clarifying his statement. “Akaashi-kun, this new yankiniku place opened up. Wanna check it out?”

Keiji’s cheeks warmed at the blatant invitation. He looked down at the table, as if to hide the color on his face. “S-sure.”

On the order side of the store, Kohi-jiisan smiled. The sky was pretty clear that day. 

\---

Working didn’t seem so hard these days. It was easy when you had someone to bounce ideas off of (though to be fairly honest, Bokuto wasn’t much help). It was easy when you could calm yourself after a laughing fit. It was easy when he didn’t have to walk on eggshells. It was easy when he felt like he could breathe. Bokuto’s gaze was no longer intimidating. Keiji basked in his rays, looking forward to the next time he was the point of focus.   
  


The yakiniku restaurant turned into a small bakery. Akaashi-kn just  _ had  _ to try their crepes. And the crepes they had were fantastic, but had he seen this small whole in the wall. Wait, you’re not hungry today?

“No, well, not in that sense. I actually have lunch today.” Keiji turned to address a small bento box next to him. Bokuto watched with wide eyes as he displayed an assortment of onigiri. 

“Did’ya make it yourself?”

Keiji paused for answering. “No. It was a…” What was the word he was looking for? “A surprise, if you will.”

“Ahhh...Well what’s in them?” He caught himself as he felt the urge to find out the practical way. 

Keiji smiled sadly. “Well that’s the thing, you never know.”

\---

The sun sat high in the sky. It’s warmth surrounded him. Relaxed his shoulders. Slowed his breathing. Made him feel at ease. Though the sun itself couldn’t compare to the heat in his chest when he found himself on the receiving end of Bokuto’s praise. Hearing the wonder in his voice as the editor explained the most mundane things. The ridiculous questions the volleyball player would ask were always a source of amusement. Then one day it was no longer just about work or an idiotic news article. It was about anything really, and that was okay. 

“Wait, you used to be a  _ setter _ ?” Bokuto’s eyes shined with glee. 

“For some time. But I quit after middle school I don’t know, just couldn’t get into it in high school.” Keiji mindlessly bit into an onigiri, curious as to what this one would hide. 

“I bet you were the best!” Bokuto sat up a little straighter. Keiji was sure it was to prepare for a series of wild gestures. “No one really wanted to play with me too much in high school, so a lot of times I’d just practice alone when we were done. They called me a ‘ _ gym rat _ ’ but...it’s just so easy ta get swept up in something you love, ya know?”

He knew. 

“It wasn’t until later when I met-” A clouded look took over his once bright expression. His shoulders slightly slumped as he deflated. 

They sat in silence for a while, Keiji trying to find the right words to say. “I would’ve practiced with you.”

Bokuto looked up at him, eyes ever so slightly glistening. “Really?”

Keiji smiled. “Yeah, really.”

\---

The invitations became mutual as Keiji showed Bokuto the parts of Hyogo he appreciated the most. The many vendors, his own landmarks. It wasn’t always food anymore. Maybe a park he liked when he was younger. A trail he’d walk in his adventurous stage. (He still hadn’t told Osamu about it due to embarassment. Though with Bokuto, it just felt...easy.) Today’s activity of choice? A walk through a small market with many booths lining either side. He told the starstruck man of the many foods and toys his parents would buy him when events would come to town, bringing the area to life even more.

Another day, he brings him to a place he hadn’t been to in quite some time. They pass by a street performer offering songs for 500 yen. The familiar road brings a twist of nostalgia and anguish as they head to a small store run by an elderly couple. Keiji opens the door for Bokuto, and lets him enter a place that feels all too familiar. Bokuto marvels at the scenery and decorations the store holds. Keiji’s heart skips a beat as he gets to be the one to show it to him for the first time. Keiji does a slow sweep himself. Everything was exactly as it was all those years ago. All those months ago. Frozen in time. 

They sit at the counter, and prepare to order. Bokuto sat at the counter, unsure of what to order. His eyebrows furrowed as he would find something he liked, yet find something  _ even more _ appetizing down the line. He let out low grumbles of frustration. Keiji watched as Bokuto’s bottom lip became the poor punching bag as he chewed it mercilessly. 

“Bokuto-san, if you don’t know what to order, I can help you.”

Bokuto snapped away from the menu, a small pout on his lips that said  _ please.  _ Keiji surveyed the menu himself, and decided on what would best fit Bokuto’s demeanor. After looking for a minute or so, he decided that a katsudon was best. He ordered a soba dish for himself and graciously thanked the elderly couple. Bokuto, at ease now that the crushing weight of ordering his food was taken away, continued the conversation they were having before entering. Keiji listened peacefully as he described yet another adventure he had with fellow spiker, Hinata Shouyou. 

Familiar scents and feelings wafted through the air. Like the store itself, Keiji’s work went completely untouched that day. The twosome existed apart from all other people, places, and apart from time itself. They sat comfortably for hours, doing deep dives into rabbit holes and conspiracy theories, childhood memories and adulthood troubles, and anything that would come to mind. In each other’s presence, they each felt at ease. No need to hide a laugh that might not be particularly attractive. No need to pretend to know something they didn’t understand. 

Their conversation overshadowed all that was. There were only the two of them as they were pulled into each other’s orbit. 

Behind them, a familiar song began to play, narrating the grim truth that would bring them to reality. 

_ Nakinagara aruku _

_ Hitori bocchi no yoru _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first thing's first. Aisem! This one is yours! "He wasn’t a funny person, no, but when Bokuto laughed that way, he could almost think otherwise." (unpublished)
> 
> May, here's yours! "Keiji, drown me in you."
> 
> for the people i've gifted this work, i decided to incorporate lines from things they've written just cause i thought it would be fucking cool. here's a link to May's Drown Me In You, check it out! https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033751
> 
> i know i said 2-3 more chapters left, but this time i mean it for sure lol. now i think it's two to three. just cause like, i think im finally going to be checking off the bulk of my checklist next chapter, so maybe two...yea. so i think maybe two chapters left. actually, if we're being honest here, maybe one. yea, i think the next one might be the last, actually 
> 
> Edit: next chapter is going to be kinda long so it might take a while


	9. Okaeri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: this is gonna be the longest chapter!
> 
> -ends up being the shortest chapter-
> 
> me: and i oop-

Keiji’s thumb circles the rim of his cup. He watches as Atsumu sends a perfect set to Bokuto, who then slams the ball to the other side of the court. He makes a tiny fist of celebration as they make a breakthrough on a deuce. His eyes are glued to the screen, his gaze held captive by the spiker. His phone jolt’s him out of his trance. He looks to see the caller ID. It’s Osamu. 

The phone seems to ring forever, Keiji frozen in place. If he hadn’t woken up that morning, he’d swear it was a dream. His heart raced the way it once did when he looked to his phone with anticipation for a call from the shop owner. He watched his hand tremble as it reached out. Taking one last breath to steady his breathing, he answered the call.

“Keiji, can you come by tanight? I need help with somethin’. It’s uh…” He heard a deep sigh from the other end. “It’s Tsumu.”

Keiji was completely stunned by the question. For one thing, he was sure this was the most he’d spoken to him in quite some time. It felt so comforting, but so misplaced. His husband sounded like a stranger. 

“I get it if yer busy-”

“I’ll come.”

He could hear the relief in his voice as the man spoke “Thank you” before hanging up.

\---

The bell jingled. Osamu looked over to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, barely succeeding. Keiji didn't look like he rushed, which was good. Someone needed to be clear-headed. Even without speaking for so long, he had an innate trust in his decision-making. Maybe from experience, maybe from the trust that comes with being married. Maybe he was just a fucking idiot. Either way, Atsumu needed help. _He_ needed help, and there was no one else to turn to. 

They silently agreed not to make eye contact even after Keiji reached the counter. Osamu wiped his hands on his apron as he finished the last few things needed to close. Keiji looked around at the empty restaurant, seeing only the blonde-haired setter sitting alone at a table. He turned towards his husband. 

“Where’s Kika-kun?” 

“I told’em to go home early. He didn’t have’ta be here for this.”

Keiji nodded with understanding before coming to a grim realization. “Wait, you took the rush by _yourself_?”

Osamu let out a tired sigh. Keiji swore it’d be longer if only his lungs were deeper. “Ain’t no Black Jackals rush. Hasn’t been for a while now.” Osamu answered as if Keiji should’ve known, and the man at the other end of the counter agreed. Keiji couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for being in the dark. After all, it was him who decided to shut his eyes. He looked to Atsumu who sat probably the most still he’d ever had in his entire life. Even at this angle, he could tell Atsumu had a vacant expression. He wasn’t there. 

“How bad is it?”

“He’s barely eatin’. Barely sleepin’. Only time he doesn’t look like shit is right b’fore an’ after a game. Ya know his pride ‘n’ all.”

Keiji took his time to digest the information. He’d seen Atsumu down before. Sulking over a missed set, a practice match that “should’ve been easy,” seeing a new tabloid on him. He’d seen it all before. But this…

“What happened?”

Osamu waited a moment before deciding to tell him. “Him and Bokuto broke up.”

“Bokuto-san never mentioned anything like that.”

“Oh really?” Osamu scoffed. “Well I didn’t know you n’ _Bokuto-san_ were that close.” Keiji felt Osamu unsheath a sharpened blade and insert it into him. It twisted as Osamu finished off with “Well unfortunately for you, we’re here for my _brother_ tanight.” With that, he stepped from behind the counter and made his way over to his twin, deliberately walking him. His husband followed suit not long after. 

Atsumu looked up to his brother, now accompanied by his brother-in-law. A skeptical laugh escaped his lips. As he looked off to the side, Keiji could see the bags that resided under his eyes. A thin layer of makeup applied earlier that day was now smudging, having been sweated out from the game. Though it might not have been long, he could see the fullness of his cheeks starting to fade. Even his chef of a brother couldn’t get him to eat. 

“You think this is gonna help me? You don’t talk to this bastard-”

“Tsumu.” Osamu cuts him short. His hooded eyes screamed danger. Unluckily for him, Atsumu had nothing to fear that night. 

“Whatcha gonna tell me? It’s just a ‘rough patch’? Yer gonna ‘figure it out’? How long? How long have ya been ‘figuring it out’, Osamu.” Each syllable of his brother’s name was laden with venom. “Oh wait, it’s my turn to be the fuck up. Again. As per usual, yea? Hey _sweetheart,_ lemme fill you in on a lil somethin’.” 

Atsumu turns to Keiji, ready to fire his weapons. Keiji stares back into his amber eyes. Atsumu is burning hot, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. 

“While _you’ve_ been doing fuck all for what? Over a year now, right? Maybe more?” Keiji remains silent. He’s known Atsumu long enough to know that this was just the beginning. Atsumu’s rage started on small embers. Weak at first, but holding potential to grow. And though it was a slow start, nothing could put it out once it was ablaze. Osamu’s anger…

“Huh, figures.” Atsumu rolls his eyes before continuing, not missing Keiji lay a hand over Osamu’s clenched fist. He lets out one more sarcastic chuckle before speaking. “Me an’ Bokkun were _fine._ We were _fine_ . Then we just...we just weren’t anymore.” Atsumu trailed off. Keiji watched as his gaze became distant. He could see in real time how Atsumu pulled himself back, stopping just short of completely dissociating. “If I never asked’em to practice with me...If I just listened ta that _fucking doctor_!” Atsumu dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to resist the urge to cry. “If I just listened…” His shoulders began to shake as his breathing became unstable.

Keiji felt tempted to reach a hand out to the man, stopped short by Osamu who simply waved his head. Atsumu would share in his own time. He didn’t want the shame that comes from the pity the couple felt. “We were good, ya know? _Real_ fuckin’ good. And then it just wasn’t. I told’em ta get out the house. Nobody wants to sit around a sad ass all day. So he’s goin’ and he’s goin’ and everythin’s goin’ great and then one day he just looked so...so _sad._ And I just didn’t know what to do and I got scared. Samu I was scared.” He looks at his brother with tears welling in his eyes. He whispers, “Samu I was _scared_.” His voice cracks as his anger fades, letting his true anguish show. 

He sniffles. Tears race down his cheeks. He sniffles hard this time, not letting himself devolve into a complete mess. “So I tell’em, let’s talk Kou, ya know. Let’s just-” he takes a deep breath to steady his breathing. They were still shallow, but even. “Let’s just talk. And he’s sittin’ there and I can just _feel_ it, ya know? I’m lookin’ at’em and I’m just like...I can see’em, but I can’t _see_ ’ _em._ Like he’s not in it anymore.” Keiji feels a chill down his spine as Atsumu made eye contact. “Speakin’ of not bein’ here, where the hell were ya?” 

Silence grabbed hold of the room. Keiji was sure they could hear the pounding in his chest. He could feel his very pores opening as beads of sweat began to form on his brow. He’s been working. He’s been working. He’s been working but why did he feel so-

“Oh yea, forgot yer a fuckin’ mime now. _Whoopsie_!” He waved his hands in mock worry.

“ _Atsumu!_ ”

“Fuck you. I’m not gonna sit here ‘n’ listen ta yer bullshit when the two of you can’t even get yer shit together.” He rose and made his way to the door. He ignored the cries called out to him.The “Waits,” the “Just listens.” It was all muted. He wasn’t going to listen as the two of them crashed around throwing stones in a glass house. 

The drive home is uneventful. The married couple sat in the driveway. The car’s internal light seemed to finally illuminate the hole torn in the fabric of their relationship. The engine seemed uncomfortably loud. After a few too many seconds of bearing the weight of the silence, Keiji speaks up. 

“Are we-”

“I’m goin' to Tsumu’s.”

“Okay.” Keiji decided not to let the silence make its home this time. “Do you know when you’ll be back?”

Osamu’s grip tightened on the wheel. His shoulders bunched as he gritted through his teeth “Does it matter?”

Keiji could almost cry. 

“Be well,” were all his parting words as he exited the vehicle. Osamu pulled out of the driveway without seeing him off. 

\---

It’s been twenty-three days. Keiji wakes up to an empty bed again. His eyes are fuzzy, burning from another sleepless night. He blinks away most of the pain. He groans as he rises from the bed. He walks into the living room and returns to the table full of what was organized chaos. Now, chaos roamed free. 

He sat at the table and opened his laptop. He stared at the screen for an unknown amount of time. This was his new routine. Wake up. Eat sometimes. Stare at the screen. On occasion, words would come to him, helping him type and edit away. More often than not, he would be consumed in its glow, not leaving the wooden chair until the late night or the early morn. He wondered when Osamu would come back. _If_ he would come back. 

_I’ll come back. I always do, don’t I?_

It replayed and replayed and replayed and replayed. Never ending. A constant loop. He wishes, he hopes, he prays. 

_Kite choudai._

_Kite choudai._

_Kite choudai._

_Kit-_

The door handle clicks. The few hours of sleep he’s had that week all come into play as he wakes up from his daze. His husband enters. From the bags under his eyes, Keiji can tell he hasn’t had much sleep himself. He pauses at the genkan, making intentional eye contact for the first time in over a year. 

“Okaeri.”

He doesn’t respond. 

Osamu removes his shoes, and walks over to the table. Keiji straightens up as Osamu pulls out a chair to join him. Osamu lets out a deep, long sigh. He’s out of breath. He’s been holding it for such a long time. When he was younger, he’d have contests with his brother to see who could hold their breath for the longest. Just as he did all those times, many years ago, he won again. But just like everyone else, Osamu needed to breathe. 

Keiji could feel the danger in the air. It’s thick, it’s heavy. It’s squeezing out all the oxygen left in his lungs. He knows the final blow has been made when Osamu places a stack of papers on the table. He doesn’t need to read them to know what they are. He closes his laptop and moves it to the side. He looks to Osamu for answers, but just like that night, he offers none. 

Keiji chokes on the silence for an immeasurable amount of time. His heart’s not racing. There is no nervousness; no anxiety; no fear. He’s just sad. 

“Why?” He’s finally able to choke out a single sentence. 

“Don’t ya think _I_ should be askin’ here?”

“Osamu, talk to me-”

“Oh _now_ you wanna talk?” He finally faces Keiji, his face already reddening, tears welling around his grey irises. “Okay, okay. Let’s talk, Keiji. Let’s talk.” He turns his chair, to face the editor. “What happened to you, eh? What happened to _us_?”

Keiji sat for a minute. _What_ did _happen?_ He swallowed hard as he tried to think of an answer, but he couldn’t focus past the image of his husband crying. _Pleading._

“I shoulda known somethin’ was up when ya stopped sleepin’.” Keiji stiffened. “Oh yea, ya think ya little stunts were workin’ on me, huh? I’m not fuckin’ stupid. Keiji you _snore_ in yer sleep. Didya know that? Ya don’t sound like a chainsaw or nothin’ but you got this little small one when yer goin’. You’ve been fakin’ it. Why?”

Keiji’s mouth was slightly agape. He tried to think, he wanted to force himself to think but he just _couldn’t_.

“Ya started comin’ to the shop and helpin’ out at ‘n’ I thought, maybe this is what we needed. I missed my _husband_ Keiji. I missed my fuckin’ _husband._ When Kika came by I thought _he_ was it. I’d get ta see ya more. Yer laugh. Yer smile. Yer...yer evrythin’.” Osamu pulled in a hard sniffle. “But I wasn’t enough. I’m just never enough.” His voice lowers as he thinks through his emotions. His thoughts. His feelings. He curses himself as Keiji’s words ring in his ear. 

_Breathe, Osamu. Breathe._

The same words that comforted him at the altar only brought insecurities to their head. 

“Was I ever enough? Didya even…”

“ _Yes!_ ” Keiji reaches across the space that separates them, but Osamu recoils before he can make contact. 

“Then _why?_ ” His voice cracks at the end of the question. “Why?”

Keiji’s throat is cotton dry. He tries to swallow but only met with the pain of the forceful action. “Osamu, I’m sorry.”

Osamu takes a deep breath, filling his lungs to their greatest capacity. He stands from the table. “I need’em signed in a week.”

“Osamu please.”

“We can talk about what’s what. You can keep the fucking apartment.”

“Osamu _please._ ” Keiji rises now, trying to reach out to the man now walking out the door. Walking out of his life. Osamu’s anger is cold. It’s unfeeling. It offered no warmth, no compromise, no room for forgiveness. At times like these, Keiji wishes Osamu were like his brother. He wishes he would _yell_ , _scream_ , _explode_. He wishes he had that fiery anger, because at least a fire could be quelled. With Osamu’s cool demeanor, his level headedness, Keiji knew he’d lost him at the door. 

As the two stood at the door, Osamu’s hand on the handle, Keiji made one last desperate plea. Whispering “ _Please_ ” has he held on the hem of his coat.

He turned around. “Make yerself at home.” And with that he was gone.

Keiji didn’t know how many hours were spent on the genkan. Maybe it was days. Who’s to say? The week came and went. The actual separation was a fairly simple process. Osamu let him keep almost everything, save for the shop and a few belongings. Of course he would. Even in their separation did he have pity and love for his soon to be ex-husband. 

Akaashi sat in the dark on his laptop. The chapter he’d been given that week had been particularly difficult. That’s what he told himself as he missed yet another deadline. The loneliness came quick, as was expected. He was anticipating pain, longing, desire. What he was met with was considerably worse. He felt empty. The bed was too big. The shower missing his partner. There were never any onigiri to meet him at the counter or the table, even in surprise. The tv was too loud. The clickity-clackity of his keyboard echoed throughout the household. Every day he seemed to be smaller, or maybe the apartment was getting bigger. May both were true.

Minutes passed like seconds, and days as hours. He’d notice that for a little while the snow would come, and he’d need his winter coat. And after a short bit, he wouldn’t need it anymore. The sakura occasionally greeted him at the door, inviting him to yet another spring. Though with his new perspective on time, there were no more beginnings. No more ends. Just existences in the vastness that he would have to make home. 

He walked down the path to the konbini near his apartment. He didn’t need his mind to make the familiar trip. Mentally occupying a space unbeknownst even to him, he felt a hard force on his right shoulder. Snapping back into reality, he turned to apologize to the figure. His hollow eyes were met with bright golden irises and a look of tired shock. The figure wore a tank top hoodie and sweatpants. Akaashi feels a familiar warmth bubbling in his stomach. The feeling of warmth twists in his stomach like a knife. The comfort he was used to feeling was distorted into something ugly. Still, he found solace in his presence and home in his eyes. 

He remembers working the paddy fields, complaining about the newest zuryou. He goes over his rants about the newly appointed Seiwa, about how a child can’t be an emperor. He feels the wood of a koushou being held firmly underneath his fingertips as the man before him carves away. He remembers holding his comrade as his life drained, promising to end the bakufu if it were the last thing he did. He remembers so much more. Generations, periods, lifetimes. 

He remembers him. 

The two stood in silence as they downloaded their memories like files, coming to the same realization.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you made it this far, holy cow! i really hope you liked it, this was my baby. there's so much that i put into it. im going to be hosting twitter lives going through each chapter and explaining a few things i included. it's not going to change the story, it's just to provide more context and answer any questions you may have. it's also going to be going through my writing and thought process while i was working on it. you wont get random crap like "he was actually X the whole time" or any shit like that. for example, i chose all the kanji for these names, what do they mean? and stuff like that. if you miss the lives, my twitter is @u_suspend. they'll either be in the pinned, or in a moment. but yea, that's it. no there's no more, and yes, that's the ending. i have a few things i on my list to write, so this isn't the last by a longshot. though most of it is smut cause they're requests from my horny friends so....yea. anywho, have a good one, and see ya later!
> 
> Also! Nia, I used your line here. Do you remember it? It's "Make yerself at home." mwa


End file.
